Curly Hair and Curly Fries
by OneWomanStorm
Summary: (Full Summary Inside!) After the death of her parents and the effects of the war, Unspeakable Hermione Granger runs to the home of her long-time friend and pen pal. Stiles Stilinski is lost. Drowning in nightmares, barely able to tell reality from dreams after the defeat of the Nogitsune; an event which has both mental and physical consequences. Can they fix each other?
1. The Obviously Expositional Chapter

**Full Summary; After the death of her parents and the effects of the war, Unspeakable Hermione Granger runs to the home of her long-time friend and pen pal. What she finds, however, is not the full-of-life boy she expects.  
Stiles Stilinski is lost. Drowning in nightmares, barely able to tell reality from dreams after the defeat of the Nogitsune; an event which has both mental and physical consequences from the young man. When a face he thought he'd never see bursts down his door, Stiles begins to question whether that, too is a dream. And if it is, does he really want it to end?**

 **Allison is alive bc I wanted her to be. This will probably go up to M at some point but whatever. My wattpad also has this story. You can find that at NotAGirlButAStorm. There, the story is StilesHermione. However, I'm open to other suggestions on here. I WILL NOT BE WRITING STEREK. I just don't ship it. Furthermore, the romance wont happen for a while. I'm working on getting my babies (Hermione, Stiles and the Pack) all fixed up. Also Erica is alive too bc why not. (Though she dosesn't feature in the first few chapters.)**

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"Stiles, please."

Silence. There was a beat of uncomfortable stares, as the Pack looked at one another. Scott rapped his fist on the door again.

"Stiles, we need you, okay? Please come out. It's okay." Scott could hear Stile's heartbeat through the wood. The familiar and comforting thrums of his best friend's heart had sped up. Scott could hear Stiles' breath quickening. Scott and the other Were-beings present could tell that Stiles was shaking and crying.

"Go." Came Stile's broken voice; he didn't believe them.

"Stiles, it's not your fault." Lydia Martin stepped beside Scott and her voice rung out steady and clear. "It's not at all, okay? You had no choice." She started, trying to stir some emotion when the door swung open.

There was Stiles, leaning against the door frame. His eyes were bloodshot and hair messy; he hadn't left his room in two days. He looked deathly pale; even more so than when the Nogitsune controlled him just a few days previous.

Scott wanted to speak. To embrace his brother, his Packmate. However, he found himself unable to reach out as Stiles stared at them all with a searching, analytic gaze.

"I don't want you here." He whispered, eyes swimming with tears. He seemed to be fighting himself to spit out the words.

"You don't mean th-"

"Go!" Stiles shouted as much as he could with his dry throat; a shout that caused Lydia to stumble back into Scott's front in shock; leaning against him as if wounded. "Please, just go," Stiles' broken voice uttered out; holding up a jar of Mountain Ash.

Scott inhaled sharply.

"Stiles, what are you doing?"

"I want to be alone. Go." Stiles stated simply, ignoring his friend as he lined the space in front of him. Ignoring the Pack (as now the majority wouldn't even be able to enter), he lined the windowsill in the same manner.

"Stiles, please, you're Pack, okay? We can work this out-"

The door swung closed; and as if a dam had broken, they could hear Stiles break.

Sobs wracked through the teen's body and the Pack ached collectively; as if their hearts could not stand to hear their friend, their Pack member, breakdown.

They turned, silently moving downstairs into the living room of the Stilinski household.

Like ghosts, they perched; mournfully, as if waiting for the moment that Stiles would let them in.

They weren't sure how long it had been; whether the silence had stretched for seconds or hours or years; there seemed to be infinite stillness; broken only by the occasional shouted sob or thudding of pounding fists from upstairs.

The pseudo-silence was broken by the rumbling of a car; the Sheriff's car. Noah Stilinski strode through the door purposefully, a weary countenance upon him, eyes glistening with hardened pain as he heard Stiles above.

"How long has he been like this?" He asked quietly, watching as the Pack shifted, stealing glances at one another.

"We came to see him after school and; well, he's been up there the whole time." Came Malia's voice; straightforward but tight with pain; her whole body taught as her anchor; her first friend; was screaming into a seeming abyss.

Noah's posture seemed to slump with defeat before a moment, before stubbornly, if not defiantly, he straightened; a determined look set upon him that grabbed the Pack's attention.

"I think I know something that-well, it's a long shot-that might help." He stated straightforwardly.

"What's that?" Derek asked, head cocked slightly; he wasn't so sure that anything could help Stiles now; and whilst the two never really got along; the idea of _Stiles_ remaining unrepairable seemed abhorrent to him.

"Scott," the Sheriff ploughed on, moving to grab a stack of letters from the windowsill; old letters, seemingly tons of them-on real parchment. "Do you remember Stiles' pen pal from the second grade?"

Scott mirrored the look of his friends as he shot the Sheriff a quizzical, nonplussed look.

"Yeah, he was obsessed. What about it?"

The Sheriff handed Scott one of the letters. "Read the date." He urged, and Scott nodded, coughing slightly.

"This-this was a month ago-like, a month ago, _this_ year."

The Sheriff nodded. "They'd never stopped talking, from what I can gather; until about-"

"The Nogitsune." Kira piped up in realisation, her posture straightening and her eyes flashing with understanding. The Sheriff nodded once more.

"I figured that she'd respond again pretty soon; until I got a phone call at the station."

The Sheriff took a seat on the couch, drawing the focus of the Pack, before explaining to them what had happened.

" _Sheriff, there's somebody on the line for you." Deputy Brigham stated, popping his head around the door. "They said that is was urgent that they spoke to you." Noah sighed, running a hand against his forehead in exasperation. "Oh, fine then. Patch them through."_

 _The deputy nodded before patching the call through;_ _Noah_ _picked up the phone._

" _Hello, Beacon Hills police department; Sheriff Stilinski speaking."_

" _Ah, Sheriff!" A cheerful, British voice called out; the warm tone of who was obviously a female called out._

" _What can I help you with?" He asked, thoroughly confused. Had they called the wrong_ country _by accident?_

" _Ah, yes, I haven't formally introduced myself. I am a pen pal of your son, Stiles Stilinski." The voice continued, and_ _Noah'_ _s eyes widened; he sat up straighter in his desk._

" _I didn't realise you knew the number for the station." He stated, finally able to string together a coherent sentence. The woman laughed brightly; though not maliciously._

" _I am afraid that your son's sleuthing skills have rubbed off on me-or was it the other way around..? Well, no matter. I called because I am concerned; Stiles has_ never _failed once to respond to a correspondence; it has been around three weeks. Is Stiles okay?" She asked, her voice filled with what_ _Noah_ _was certain was genuine concern._

" _Ah; Yes, well, Beacon Hills has faced a lot recently; Stiles has been caught up in some of it, and he's been…distracted to say the least."_

 _There was a beat of silence before the woman continued._

" _Thank you Sheriff. You have reassured me immensely; however, I still can't help but be a bit concerned…"_

" _And I thank you for the concern Miss; but honestly, Stiles is just…working through some stuff right now. You know how it is."_

" _Yes, I certainly do…" There was a poignancy to the woman's phrasing that_ _Noah_ _didn't understand; it was if the woman knew exactly what had happened; or, as if, she simply knew exactly how Stiles had been…dealing._

" _Is-Is there anything else I can do for you?"_ _Noah_ _asked impulsively; everything in his bloodstream was screaming at him to ask and he realised that he had done before it was too late to analyse_ why.

" _Ah! Yes, there was indeed…I apologise so much for this; however, I'm relocating for Beacon Falls on a work-based proviso. Simply put; they forced me to take a sabbatical." The woman chuckled grimly, as if the thought of a vacation was the most detestable and monstrous thing a human could do to another._ _Noah_ _chuckled slightly; he was the exact same when he started his job as a deputy._

 _The woman continued further. "I bought a house up in Beacon Hills and plan to move there by the end of the coming month; however I am forced to relocate now, and well, the house I bought is not fit for use…I was wondering if I could be so rude as to impose myself onto you and Stiles for a week or so; just until the house is ready." There was a note of pleading in her tone. "I promise, I will help out as much as possible; I'm a quiet person and I can pay you rent as p-"_

" _Listen. You've known Stiles; have written to him in actual_ letters _, for years now. Of course you can stay for a while; Stiles would love to have you over. And I think it might be just what he needs."_

 _Noah_ _could almost feel the happiness and relief from the phone and chuckled as she responded with an unbounding eagerness._

" _Thank you so much, Sheriff! I'll give you details of when I arrive at the airport; I should be there in three days' time-don't worry about picking me up, I'll be able to do that myself." He wanted to be stubborn, to insist upon driving the woman to his house-she was after all, going to be a guest. However, he got the sense that the woman on the phone was just as stubborn-if not more so-than his son._

" _That sounds perfectly fine to me." He said, and moments later, the call ended in the woman's cheerful, stereotypically British ''goodbye.''_

"What does a pen pal have to do with Stiles getting…better?" Malia asked, eyebrow raised.

The Sheriff leaned back in him chair.

"Look, this girl; she pulled him out of a few states before, just through _letters._ You remember that funk Stiles was in when we first-well, when we first found out about C-"

"Yeah, yeah I do. He was like that for about a week." Scott said; he knew the Sheriff was still emotional about the incident; he would be too. It was for that reason that he cut across so rudely.

"This girl pulled him out of that state in a week; I came downstairs one morning and Stiles had made Claud and me _pancakes…_ If anybody can get through to him, it would be her."

There was another pregnant pause.

"So, when does she arrive?" Derek asked. The elder Stilinski looked at his watch.

"In around five minutes." He responded.

"You-You've told Stiles nothing, have you?" Lydia asked from her spot on the sofa. Scott shot the Sheriff with an incredulous gaze.

"We all know that Stiles would have schemed his way out of it."

"You know what kind of state he's in right now, right?" Scott asked. There was no time, however, to argue; a light rapping on the door interrupted the possibility.

Scott focused his mind; he could feel the presence of a somebody stood there; their heartbeat was seemingly steady, though it seemed to be a touch slower than it should be.

The Sheriff moved towards the door; the Pack leaned towards it as much as they could from their spots in the living room; curious and attentive to any possible threat. Only Scott moved out of his seat, walking right up behind the Sheriff.

The door swung open, and as Scott caught her scent for the first time, his eyes widened; he fought his inner wolf for control.

She smelt… _delicious._

Power seemed to roll off her in waves; right to the tips of her hip-length, riotous brown curls. She looked up at Noah Stilinski; only a mere 5" in height; and yet all Scott could understand was the power radiating through her.

What _was_ she?

"Hello! You must be Sheriff Stilinski; it's nice to finally be able to put a face to the name!" The girl beamed, her voice like honey and melted chocolate.

Scott felt an unbearable whim to _submit._

In front of him, Noah chuckled, a surprised "Oof" escaping him as he was caught in a quick embrace.

"I've heard so much about you; about Stiles' enigmatic pen pal from across the shore."

The girl ducked her head slightly as she stood back, her amber eyes sparkling ask a light blush sprinkled itself on her cheeks. Scott finally managed to bring himself under control; and in good time too, for when the Brit looked up she beamed widely, catching his eyes.

"You must be Scott!" She smiled, holding out a hand. "Stiles has talked of your childhood exploits in vivid detail." She giggled slightly as Scott's ears burned red; still, he shook her hand, noticing a polite yet firm grip.

His mom had always said that the type of handshake a person gave was important.

"I hope Stiles at least told you some of the less embarrassing stories, too."

"I wouldn't count on it." She winked, then laughed brightly.

It had seemed all her previous power had dissipated. She still smelt…delectable; however the only supernatural power about her seemed to be the mass of hair that was a being unto itself.

"Where is the guy I was hoping to see, anyway?" Hermione asked curiously, tilting her head. She moved without answer, towards the living room. "O-Oh! Hello. I'm so sorry to intrude!" She said, eyes widened at the impromptu welcome-committee. From behind her, Scott noticed Derek, Malia, and Isaac; they were watching the girl with intense gazes, and Scott realised that they had all sensed how powerful she was.

Lydia stepped forward brightly; ever the social butterfly.

"Hi, I'm Lydia! Welcome to Beacon Hills; I'm so sorry, we honestly had no idea you were visiting until around five minutes ago." She stated; the girl laughed keenly.

"Oh, don't worry about it whatsoever."

"Anyway, this is Malia," Lydia said, pointing towards the werecoyote whom waved. She then pointed to each of the Pack members in turn. "That's Kira. He's Derek, and next to him is Isaac."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all; Stiles has talked about you so much in his letters to me." She smiled kindly; her expression changed, however, with the dark and sombre look that was passed around.

"W-what's happened?" She asked, her concern rising. The Pack seemed to be warring itself with answers.

But they didn't need to.

At that moment, a large shout, followed by a crashing noise sounded from upstairs.

The girl's eyes widened and, without warning or asking, she moved towards the staircase.

Scott followed hurriedly, futile attempts to bring her back downstairs escaping his lips even as the Pack and the Sheriff followed.

She stopped in front of his door, and took a moment, before she rapped on it in a three-five-three beat.

"Go away, Scott!" Stiles called; his voice even more hoarse and scratchy than before.

Hermione seemingly growled, causing the hairs on Scott's neck to prick up.

"I should think that you would mistake me for one of your female friends before you do your brother, _Ahote._ " (1)

The use of a foreign language halted all sound; though Scott felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest as an almost silent shuffling of feet became louder.

The door swung open suddenly. Stiles; face ghostly white, an almost deathly countenance upon his face, appeared like a spirit. His eyes immediately found the concerned-yet-stern girl, his eyes widening. He gasped slightly, stumbling back.

"Are you real?" He asked, his hand moving forward of his own accord, reaching out to her.

She smiled softly. "Yes." She said, as if that was all that was needed; as if it explained everything.

For Stiles, it seemed to; for in a heartbeat, he had moved, embracing the girl tightly, burying his head in her hair as he slumped against her, sobbing brokenly. Stumbling momentarily by his weight, she took no notice of them as she began humming softly; moving Stiles towards his bed as she sang a soft lullaby.

"I see the moon, the moon sees me, shining through the leaves of the old oak tree…" She continued singing, her voice soft and almost…adoring. Scott stepped back slightly, almost feeling like an intruder. The girl seemed to calm Stiles down almost immediately; but she never stopped singing or running her hair through his hands. Indeed, she just held him close as he sobbed.

"…Oh, let the light that shines on me, shine on the one I love." The rhythmic movements of her hand brushing his hair and the rise and fall of her chest were in sync with the timbre of the song; eventually, Scott noticed that Stiles' sobs turned into sniffles as his heartbeat evened out; beating in time with her own, slower-than-normal place.

And it was not just Stiles that was affected. Scott felt a calm wash over him as the girl sang; his heart seemed to slow and his mind seemed to quieten. He noticed the same happening with the rest of the Pack. It was as if she had woven in a sedative to her words. Scott knew, somewhere in the recesses of his brain, that he should be concerned.

But he filed it away for later. The girl was doing no harm, yet; in fact, if anything she was doing nothing but good.

"Over the mountains, over the sea, back where my heart is longing to be..."

They had become invisible to her, it seemed. Malia moved first, turning slowly, almost sleepily, around, moving downstairs, the soft tune as it started over without pause drifting with her as the others followed. Scott shut the door softly behind them.

As they reconvened in the living room, the atmosphere shifted.

"What was that?" Isaac asked, almost nervously. He looked on edge. "I felt this sudden wave of just.."

"Calm." Kira interrupted, blushing slightly as everybody's gaze snapped towards her. "I felt at peace, like I was safe." Slowly, the Pack nodded in assent.

"Who-what is she?" Lydia asked, her question mainly pointed at Derek.

"Hey, I don't have all the answers, you know." He quipped; but after the effects of the lullaby, it seemingly lacked its usual bite. Scott shook his head.

"I don't think she's a threat." He put plainly. "At least, not right now."

"He's right." Malia bit her lip slightly, nodding. "I didn't get any feelings of threat or danger…and Stiles feels safe. I know it."

"But it still doesn't answer the real question-who the hell is she?" Lydia countered. She liked the stranger so far; but she didn't even have the name of the girl. How was she supposed to begin to trust the girl if she didn't have a name to call her by?

"It's getting late." The soft tone of the Sheriff broke through their impromptu quizzing. "Scott, you're more than welcome to stay the night, but I think you'll have to take the couch if you do." Scott nodded.

"That's fine by me, Sir." Noah nodded, turning to the others.

"I've got to be getting back home, anyway." Kira stated, grabbing her bags. She nodded goodbye to everybody; her cheeks flushed as made eye contact with Scott-and she left, leaving the soft purring of a car behind her.

Her leaving seemed to trigger movement in the rest of the Pack. Malia had (albeit reluctantly) agreed to spend the night at Lydia's instead of staying at the Stilinski's, and the rest of the pack made their own ways out.

Soon, Scott was left alone.

He sighed exhaustively, rubbing his eyes. Moving towards the sofa, Scott grabbed one of the throw blankets left haphazardly on the seat, wriggling around until he was fairly comfortable; God only knew how often Scott had fallen asleep on that couch before.

He lay on his side. His hearing picked up the Sheriff's slow heartbeat as he slept on; as well as the thudding of Stiles' heart. The girl continued in her melody, never wavering.

A wave of rolling tiredness rushed through his limbs and Scott sagged, closing his eyes.

The last thing he remembered before he was swept away into a dreamless sleep was the never-ending lullaby.

 _Let the light that shines on me, shine on the ones that I love._

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 _1\. Ahote._ Hopi (A Native American Tribe/dialect) that means _Restless one,_ which I thought was prety accurate for our fave ADHD :')

Phew, first chapter over and done with! Please drop down your thoughts below! Tell me what your favourite part was, what you'd like to seeinthe fic, etcetera.

Much love!


	2. The Obligatory Shopping Sequence

**ANOTHER UPDATE? ALREADY?** **You ask.**

 **"Yes." I reply. "Dont expect another for a while though." I add, guiltily thinking of my bad procrastination and the fact that I had a few fics published that had been abandoned accidentally.**

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"Oh, _Bugger!_ "

Scott's eyes snapped open and he sprang into high-alert mode, all traces of sleep gone from him as he jumped up at the sudden shouting and clanging going on in the kitchen. Confused and concerned, he made his way into the room, nose wrinkling as the scent of burnt bacon and batter inflamed his nostrils.

The British girl that had turned up last night seemed to be cooking breakfast.

Well, trying to, at least. It seemed her cooking skills were on par with his mother's-if the smell hadn't told him that, then the mess of flour on the countertop, splodges of batter dotted around, and the blackened food being scraped off the poor frying pan would do the job just the same.

"Y-You okay there?" He asked tentatively. The girl jumped, whirling around and brandishing the _poor, poor_ frying pan with wide eyes. Her flour-topped nose scrunched up.

"Oh! So sorry-I must have woken you! I do apologise…I was trying to make breakfast." She stated with a bashful shrug, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment.

Unable to contain himself, Scott let off a chuckle as he stared at the bashful girl, an eyebrow raised.

..

Not ten seconds later and they were both laughing hard, gazing at the mess she'd made.

"Oh, I've never been able to get the hang of cooking. Soup and bread are as far as I can do." She sighed through subsided giggles, her eyes sparkling happily even as she put on a mournful look.

"I'm not too good at it myself, but Mom's worse, so I can do a few things. Like pancakes and bacon, for example." He stated with a chuckle. "And you have just ruined a once unblemished frying pan, by the way."

"We'll hold a funeral for Albert this afternoon then. The flag shall fly at half-mast and we'll do a twenty-one-gun salute." She quipped, wiping her brow and grinning at him.

Scott understood why Stiles took a shine to the girl.

And using 'girl' was really annoying now.

"Can I ask-what's your name? The Sheriff never actually said." He blurted, eyes widening slightly as he realised how rude he sounded. Thankfully, she shook her head and laughed.

"Don't worry, it's probably because he was worried about pronouncing it wrong," she chuckled, "It's Hermione. Hermione Granger." She held out her spare hand and he shook it again, an easy smile on his face. It was easy to relax around her, he noticed.

"What did you _do_ in here?"

Scott turned, eyes wide at the sight of Stiles at the door. He still looked deathly; but this time it looked like he'd at least slept a whole night. And he'd showered, too; his hair damp and fluffy on his head.

"Hey, it wasn't my fault!" Scott denied, pouting slightly and pointing accusatorily at Hermione, who simply stuck her tongue out at him before turning to Stiles, shrugging sheepishly.

"I was trying to cook breakfast for you and then I decided to experiment with batter viscosity and then I forgot about the bacon and the batter in the pan already and when I tried to fix that I forgot to switch off the mixer and- "

Stiles stopped her in her rambling by throwing a dish cloth at her face. Sputtering slightly, she grabbed it and glared at him. He just smiled. A real, genuine smile; small, but very real.

How the hell did she manage to do that?

As Scott pondered the mystery that was Hermione Granger, a silent conversation had seemed to pass between the other two in the room. Stiles noiselessly took the frying pan from Hermione and she turned, beginning to wipe down the sides. Wanting to help, Scott grabbed a cloth himself and set to work, the sound of batter sizzling in the pan slowing his thoughts as they worked.

Eventually, a rich stack of thick, fluffy pancakes had been set up on the dining room, a bottle of maple syrup on the counter; Scott finished setting the last glass down as Hermione brought in a pitcher of apple juice; Scott noticed a bit of flour that was on her nose still and chuckled inwardly.

"There, that's it! Stiles, I already talked to the school you go to; Beacon Hills High? And I told them you were taking the day off." She stated, and the two boys looked up from their places; Scott midway through placing a third pancake onto his plate.

"Really?" Stiles asked, his face scrunched up. Hermione nodded, her mass of hair moving with her like rolling brown waves.

"Yup! I don't have a car, and I have errands to run; plus, I need a guide about town-and don't you remember me telling not three years ago, that when I eventually visited I would take you shopping?" She stated, inspecting her plate for a second as the words sunk into Stiles' head and he paled, leaning away from her.

"No. You wouldn't _dare."_

Hermione winked at Scott and he chuckled at the back-and-forth the two held.

"You promised me."

"Only because the Hermione Granger I knew hated clothes shopping!"

"Hey. Blame Ginny on that one, she got me into it; plus, I want to make sure you have enough clothes at my house in case you need to stop over."

There was a pause of intense staring before, eventually, Stiles sighed dramatically, slumping back in his chair.

"Fine. God, you'd get on with Lydia. Short, smart, and fricken terrifying."

Hermione's eyes gleamed and Scott swallowed, hard, at the thought of those two being friends.

"Great!" She beamed, going back to her food as if nothing had happened. "Scott, eat up! You've got school in twenty minutes; I managed to get the boys to class every day and I'll be damned if that streak is stopped because of you." She smiled sweetly at him.

Scott ate faster.

Scott had been gone for thirty seconds, the rumble of his bike echoing behind him, before Hermione turned towards Stiles.

"How are you feeling?" She asked softly, lines of worry on her face, all pretences of joking gone. Stiles observed her for a moment; he knew she was up at least most of the night (which was just early morning at the point she arrived) and she had to have been up at least an hour before him. Had she slept at all? He considered his usual lie, but the strings of his heart spoke for him.

"Not great, but better than I have in a long time. I can't really remember the dreams this time…just how they felt."

He couldn't lie to her.

She nodded, wordlessly taking the plates into the kitchen and dumping them in the sink temporarily. He followed suit with the rest of the dishes, following her obediently to the couch; he was pulled down immediately and pulled into a soft embrace; one he, surprisingly, didn't pull back from.

She grounded him. She always had.

"I'm sorry, Stiles."

"What for?" He asked. She didn't have half a clue what had gone on.

"For whatever it is that happened. You didn't deserve it. And I wasn't there for you."

Stiles shook his head vehemently. He pulled back to meet her gaze, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"I didn't tell you. And you're here now. That's all that matters." She nodded, swallowing thickly, and Stiles tried his hardest to ignore the wretched look of pain upon her face.

"I understand Stiles, a lot more than you think. Trust me on that. I know you won't tell me everything; but you can. No matter how unbelievable you think it is. Trust that I will believe you and be there for you." She whispered, grabbing a hold of his hand, squeezing it.

He squeezed back, falling back onto the couch and pulling her to him; a tangle of limbs.

"I will do, eventually."

It was the truth. He couldn't keep all this from her. Not ever. No matter how much danger it would put her in; she, of all the important people in Stiles' life, deserved to know.

"I have something to tell you too, eventually." She whispered again, playing with her fingertips.

Stiles frowned, his hand tracing circles on her forearm.

"Not unless you're ready, too." She nodded in assent.

They laid like that for a while, before, as if jolted by electricity, Hermione jumped up, grasping Stiles' hand.

"What's up?" Stiles asked.

"Come on. I do actually have errands to run, and I _am_ going to take you shopping."

"…dammit."

"Now, get your arse into gear Stilinski, and let me get my purse."

Twenty minutes later, they were sat in Roscoe, peeling out of the drive towards town. Hermione had asked him if he could help her tame her bu-hair, into a braid. It took time and sweat and Stiles was sure she had cried at one point, but they'd done it.

They'd parked up at the local superstore and Hermione hopped out of Roscoe, wrapping her arm around Stiles' as they walked to an ATM, bank card in her hand.

"Do you think this will be enough for now?" She asked, biting her lip. His eyes bulged and he pulled her aside from the cashpoint, before anybody could see the amount of money in her hand.

"What the hell, Stiles!"

"Hermione, that's $500!" She frowned at him, chewing slightly on her lip.

"Is that not enough?"

"Hermione, for somebody so smart you really don't have a clue, do you?"

"Hey, I resent that Stilinski!"

Stiles rolled his eyes, grinning light-heartedly. He saw the beginnings of a smile encroach onto Hermione's face, and he inwardly celebrated that minor victory.

"It's more than enough. What do you need, anyway?"

"Oh, this is for groceries."

"Your house isn't even ready yet."

Hermione rolled her eyes this time.

"It for you and your dad, you idiot. I figured if I was eating your food I could at least buy some of it; especially if I end up wasting it with my disasters," she grimaced. "It was the least I could do and don't you dare turn me down on it Stiles. At least now you have full control over how much junk there'll be for your dad to eat."

She knew how to play him. And indeed, Stiles knew he was being played.

But that offer was too good to refuse.

An hour later, they were hauling three trolley's worth of food and other essentials towards the Jeep. "How on earth did we get this much?" Stiles panted, pushing a weighted trolley with all his might; Hermione had another one, and they were managing the third between them both.

"Hey, I wanted to make sure you were packed with enough food for a small army, sue me; your friends look like they'd get through all this in a month. The guys, at least." Hermione snorted, fly-always sticking to her forehead and her cheeks ruddy with tiredness.

Stiles snorted, trying to picture Lydia eating all this herself. He shook his head.

"You have a point there."

They loaded the bags into the back of Roscoe, and Hermione turned to Stiles with a tired grin.

"How about we take this stuff back and unpack, then go out for lunch?" Stiles suggested.

"Lunch, and then clothes shopping." She grinned, a devious expression that Stiles had learnt to love loathing.

"You're going to kill me."

"Oh, woman up, Stiles."

He took her to a diner in the middle of town; one of his favourite hangouts, a place called "The Bistro." He'd been going there since he was a little kid; a kitsch, family run business, he had eaten his first curly fry there.

"What can I get ya, Stiles?" The waitress, a woman in her thirties named Mags, grinned at him, a notebook in hand.

"I'll have my usual please, Mags."

She chuckled, jotting it down even though all the employees knew his order off by heart; a double chicken and cheeseburger, curly fries, and a large chocolate milkshake.

Mags turned to Hermione with a pleasant smile. "And what can I be getting you, miss?" She asked.

"Oh-Just some curly fries and a milkshake, please. Chocolate." Hermione responded, putting down a menu that Stiles had noticed she'd barely glanced at. Mags nodded and left with a smile.

"You okay, Hermione?" Stiles asked, frowning slightly. She seemed…off.

"Stiles, I could ask you the same thing." She raised an eyebrow pointedly, and a blush rose to his cheeks.

"Hey, just because I haven't been…peachy, it doesn't mean you can't tell me, yeah?" He took her hand, which had been drumming against the countertop, and started rubbing the pad of his thumb along her knuckles. Hermione seemed to sag slightly, the air coming out of her.

"I know, but honestly, it's not really a conversation that can be had right now."

"Are you sure?" He asked her again. She nodded, biting her lip slightly. Nodding minutely, Stiles leaned back, still tracing his friend's knuckles. He understood completely.

He just hoped that she knew that he wouldn't abandon her, no matter what. Hell, she could claim to be an alien and he'd stand by her. And he hoped (prayed) that she felt the same way about him. He'd have to get the okay from the Pack, but he wanted to tell her. Not right away; he wasn't ready for the look of disappointment in her eyes, even if right now that look was in his head.

Stiles' reverie was broken upon the arrival of food and drinks; the pair lapsed into comfortable conversation, as if they'd spent the last several years at each other's hips rather than across oceans.

"So, where is your house?" Stiles asked, munching on a curly fry. Hermione looked up from the straw of her milkshake and grinned, cheeks dimpling as she did so.

"It's on the edge of town; actually, it's a few miles into the woods. I decided I wanted to live somewhere quiet and I found some people willing to sell some land and a few old buildings. I've actually been having it restored for a while now…I bought it long before I even knew I was going to be forced onto sabbatical."

Stiles snickered. Only Hermione would need to be "forced" to take a vacation. Though it did make him wonder exactly _where_ in the woods the house was; the pack certainly hadn't stumbled upon it before.

Wolfing (heh) down the last of his meal, Stiles observed Hermione; though she seemed perfectly distracted by food, he noticed several things; she was more moving the fries about, as if they were being eaten; her posture was completely stiff and rigid, and not just in an "I was brought up an English Lady" type way- more like she was on high alert; and that, every so often, Hermione would bite her lip, tense her hands up as if ready to fist them, and glance around at all the windows and exits, as if plotting an emergency escape route.

What on earth had happened to her?

"Stiles, I think it's time we get going, if that's okay? I have a lot of clothes I want to see you in." Hermione grinned near-maliciously as Stiles groaned; though you could tell it was _partially_ false by the amused glint in his eye as he mentally filed away his earlier observations for later.

"Come on then, Buttercup. Lead the way to my doom." Hermione rolled her eyes at the boy, a smile teasing her lips as they each left a decent tip on the countertop alongside the check book, waving at Mags as they exited the Diner.

"Buttercup? That's certainly a new one, Daisy."

Shopping. Was. Hell.

Well, no, not completely.

It was fun at first; Hermione dashing about like an ADHD hummingbird (or like him on a research task), grabbing this and that and making little gasps of excitement as she found something new that she wanted Stiles to try on.

Very soon, though, Stiles' arms became weighted with a mountain of clothes, and he decided that he preferred online shopping.

Not to mention that Hermione not only took him to stores in the nearest mall, but she also took him to several fancy stores-he knew they were fancy because he couldn't pronounce the foreign names on the storefront.

The one saving grace was that Hermione knew what Stiles liked; she didn't try and completely change up his style. She referred to it as "The Stiles Stilinski fashion line version 2.0." A blend of Hermione's own upscale, first-class upbringing fashion sense (that she herself claimed to never caring about until she got an office job) and the familiarity of plaid and t-shirts and jeans.

She'd insisting on paying for them all; and though Stiles knew he'd never afford the veritable mountain she'd bought, he reluctantly agreed with the compromise of her buying the clothes in return of adding whatever she wanted to without his complaint. (The fact that Hermione was what would be best described as "rich as balls" helped soothe the guilt a little.)

Though he did wonder what the Pack would think about his new leather jacket that she'd unceremoniously dumped into his lap when he'd _finally_ found a pouf to sit down upon.

"You know, I really didn't care for shopping, nor fashion, all that much when I was younger." Hermione stated, as she handed over her card for the twelfth time since lunch. "I liked it, but it felt more like a chore." She hummed to herself, tilting her head to smile at him. "Not only is it more fun shopping for other people, I've honestly learnt to appreciate good tailoring."

There was a look in Hermione's eyes that halted the remark on Stiles' tongue. She looked far away, as if remembering something important, when he himself remembered one of Hermione's letters.

… _Mum keeps harping on about getting the uniforms fitted and going shopping for clothes this summer and it's driving me bonkers, Stiles! I love her to pieces but I've heard the phrase "good tailoring makes all the difference not just to first impressions, but to your confidence" a thousand times now! Anyway…_

"Hey, is there anywhere else we need to be?" Stiles asked, snapping Hermione out of her daze.

"Oh, yes. Just one place. I promise it won't take as long, I'm buying something for myself, too."

The last store she had bought him to seemed to be more of a castle. It was upscale boutique; large and spacious, with four floors in total. Stiles felt rather like a fish out of water. A calligraphy signpost next to the stairs and elevator read _"Shoes/Accessories-Ground Floor; Suits- First floor; Dresses-Second Floor; and Changing Rooms-Third Floor."_

Gold and cream was the main colour scheme of the store, floor length mirrors along several walls; mannequins were placed meticulously, posed as if they were royalty; displaying only the best of the best. A single pair of shoes seemed to cost more than his Dad's salary. He knew Hermione was rich, but he honestly hadn't expected her to be this rich whatsoever; heck, Lydia most likely couldn't afford this outside a sample sale.

He was glad beyond words that Hermione seemed to know what she was doing here. She led him straight up to the first floor, upon which, Stiles was assaulted with racks and racks of trousers; suit jackets; shirts; waistcoats; and things Stiles didn't even know how to describe. There were several large catalogues near each rail or shelf, teeming with fabric and colour samples, the warm lighting making everything seem all the more luxurious.

"Welcome! Is there anything I can do for you two today?" Intoned a cheerful man, his hair perfectly coiffed and straight white teeth baring a grin that seemed a little too false. He smiled brightly at Hermione; her smart attire making her fit right in. When his gaze turned to Stiles, however, he noticed that the smile seemed to turn into more of a grimace.

"Yes, I'd like to get my friend here fitted; I want four suits, a tuxedo, seven shirts, and three pairs of pants." Hermione stated firmly, an ice-cold expression on her face; she'd clearly seen the judgy look the sales guy shot Stiles. "I have an important function in a few weeks. I'm also here to pick up three suits of my own; furthermore, I had four custom dresses designed and fitted three months ago, from your store in France; I had been informed that they would be shipped directly here for me to get fitted." The sales guy swallowed hard and nodded, clearly intimidated by Hermione's straightforwardness.

"Y-Yes, of course! Right this way."

Two hours later, and they were finally done. Stiles' suits would be ready next week; Hermione's dresses had been a perfect fit as far as he was aware- she hadn't let him see them. Her own suits were in a few garment bags, and they'd gotten three pairs of shoes there as well. Heck, they'd even been given goody bags after leaving; expensive bags, filled with cologne and perfume and shoe polish and cufflinks and jewellery.

Stiles figured that if only it required 90% less effort, he could get used to a "high-life".

"So; what's all the fancy suits for, anyway?" He asked as he started up Roscoe; the sun beginning to set behind him.

"Back home, whenever somebody moved into a house, there'd often be a welcoming ball. They'd host it as a way to get to know the guests. I never managed to get to one, but Mum loved them. I suppose, well, I still have some ingrained traditions." Hermione stated simply, head against the window. "Plus," She added, twisting her head to grin at Stiles, "the town needs livening up and I just bet that you would look damn good in a Tux."

Stiles chuckled, rolling his eyes slightly. "It'll certainly get the town talking." He smirked.

"Oh, it bloody better. Oh, and tell your friends they're more than welcome to come along. If they go to the boutique and say I sent them it'll be added onto my tab. I didn't know what to get them as gifts, so this'll do." She mused to herself. Stiles barked out an answer.

"Hermione, that's more than enough, trust me. And Lydia? She will never ever leave your side if you promise free couture."

Hermione laughed brightly, a sleepy gaze on her face as the day finally wore her down some. "I think I'm going to like Lydia a lot; I like treating people, especially," She stated with a pointed look and a grin, "those that know exactly what a treat they're getting."

"Hey! I just think a $50 suit is better value than a $500 suit!"

"Yes, if you don't count for the quality, longevity, fit, tailoring…"

"Yeah, yeah. Fancy getting takeout? Pizza sound good to you?"

"Only if it's BBQ chicken. None of that pineapple rubbish."

"You got it."

Noah Stilinski came home to his son, wrapped in a blanket and his arms around his British friend; Pizza crusts in a box and feet curled up on the couch, Star Wars on the TV screen.

"Hey, son. Hermione." The pair jumped slightly in shock, having not heard him come in, and Noah chuckled.

"Evening Sheriff." Hermione smiled.

"Hey Dad. There's some pizza in the kitchen, with some salad. You better eat it, too!" Noah grimaced to himself. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get Stiles to relinquish his health crusade.

Noah nodded his thanks, grabbing some slices before sitting on the couch. "Thanks; How have your days been?" He asked, mainly towards Hermione.

"Quite beneficial; I managed to get Stiles to enter a clothing store."

" _A_ clothing store? More like twenty!" Stiles protested. Hermione just rolled her eyes, elbowing him slightly before smiling at the Sheriff.

"That actually reminds me. Sheriff, I'm holding a sort of meet-and-greet once my house is ready and I've settled in-it's black tie, and I wanted to invite the police department. I went to a boutique today and I can give you the details; say it's from me and you'll get fitted for a suit or tuxedo-on me."

"Hermione, that's too much, you really didn't have to." Noah began to protest, though he figured beforehand it was most likely futile.

"Don't fret about it; you've allowed me into your home, and free of charge too. It's the least I can do; plus, you raised this fine young man and I happen to care quite a bit about him, so consider it a thank you." She smiled, and Noah noticed Stiles' blush as his pride swelled in is chest at the sudden compliment. "Please, let me pay for the suit. The county Sheriff must set an example, after all." She added with a wink.

"If you're absolutely sure." Noah conceded, nodding slightly and sighing, finishing his pizza. "Anyway, I best be heading back to the station, I'm having to add a lot more shifts on lately." He said. "Don't be up too late and stay safe."

"We will do, Dad."

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Stiles asked, gazing at Hermione. His eyes were wide, displaying an abnormal vulnerability; he could never hide his heart from her. They were in his room; Hermione had stolen a baggy t-shirt for pyjamas, and he wore his sweats. Hermione twisted from her place at the doorway, a furrowed brow on her face.

"Of course, Stiles. I'll stay; until you don't need me to." She promised. Stiles' head jerked into a nod.

"I'll always need you to." He responded softly, his voice hoarse. Hermione smiled softly and warmly; her eyes, shining, spoke a thousand words.

 _I'm here. You'll be safe. I understand. I have nightmares, too._

She nodded, sliding into the bed, her doe eyes sparkling as she opened her arms for him and he entered her embrace happily. He felt raw, like his soul was being exposed.

"I will always be there, Stiles." She whispered, stroking his hair as they moved to get more comfortable. He slept on his side, Hermione spooning him (and _god_ how unmanly was that), her leg thrown over his hip casually as she continued with softly stroking his hair.

And, for the first time in what seemed like forever, Stiles slept soundly.


	3. The Actual Action (Almost) Arrives

**_AN: Urgh. I didn't realise that my line breaks hadn't formatted into the past two chapters. I'll probably go back and edit them in when it annoys me enough._**

 ** _Anyway. AHHHH. I' by the response I've gotten in such a short space of time) though I see you, my sneaky non-reviewers ;) Nah, don't worry about it. Though I'd genuinely like to hear your thoughts. As I said, whilst my Wattpad version of this story is completely Stiles/Mione, I'm open to other ideas...I just might not go with them. But I would like to hear them. That and any critiques you have. I'm a writer and I'm constantly looking to improve. Any questions? LET ME KNOW. Don't keep on guessing aha._**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

 _The stench of blood permeated the air. Flashes of light cracked down around Hermione as she ducked around, weaving through people that were both friend and foe; targeting anybody that threatened the Light resistance. Smoke circulated through Hermione's lungs, causing them to ache desperately for a respite; but she just kept on running, hitting her marks with a deathly position._

 _"Hermione."_

 _She spun around and a sob tore, unbidden, out of her throat._

 _"Hermione, why did you leave?" The figure in front of her asked, and time seemed to stand still. His gaunt and pale skin looked shocking and even more deathly against his bright orange hair. His eyes, were just as blue as she remembered; but they were dull and unfeeling. He stumbled towards her, as if drunken._

 _"You left me!" He shouted, spittle flying every which way. The scent about him was acrid; as if he were a corpse._

 _"I'm sorry." Hermione sobbed, falling to her knees. "I'm sorry!"_

 _"You left me, Hermione! You let me die!"_

* * *

Hermione shot up in the bed, panting heavily, her eyes immediately grappling for her beaded bag and wand. She became frantic for a moment before she heard a rumbling groan beside her.

"Oh." She breathed, her heart still racing and tears falling down her cheeks. Stiles.

She was with Stiles. Right. Sighing, Hermione slipped out of bed carefully, making sure not to disturb the boy. He was (thankfully) sleeping soundly, but she knew she wouldn't get another wink of sleep herself. She spotted her bag on the desk and grabbed it, sneaking out into the bathroom.

The fluorescents flickered into life above her, and Hermione splashed some cold water on her face. She looked completely wild; her hair messier than usual; her eyes puffy and red; her skin pale and slick.

"Merlin." She muttered to herself, sliding her wand into her hand. Feeling the magic in her blood sing, she murmured soft incantations, sighing at the relief of her magic being worked. She had learnt that now, going a day without using her magic in some way made her crabby, irritable, and a downright bitch.

The liberal glamour charms she used on her scars; not because she was ashamed, but mainly to protect her identity; helped sap the power leakage somewhat, but they, like most magic, had a time limit. Much like how one could only hold a Wingardium Leviosa for so long, the glamour charms worked the same. She was just lucky they hadn't worn off around Stiles, or she'd have to tell him a lot more than she was ready for.

Stiles was a matter in and of himself. Hermione loved him to pieces, but she knew as soon as she entered the Stilinski household that something was up. Her magic sung again, and it took her a moment to reign it back, lest anything supernatural sensed it and got riled up.

It seems she hadn't managed soon enough, for when she saw Scott, she knew immediately.

Werewolves.

Most likely type C "Lupine Shifters" rather than the full-blown werewolves she'd often encountered, but werewolves all the same. Her magic had instinctively reached out for her as she made her introductions.

Not just a werewolf. Her magic, the helpful entity it was, sensed the magic imprint of a fox spirit, and a banshee.

It seemed all of Stiles' friends were creatures of the night.

As soon as that knowledge had sunken in, Hermione also realised that Stiles most definitely knew. But, she didn't push it. She knew he was probably as broken as her at the moment, and it was not the time to push. He'd tell her when he's ready.

And that's when she'll tell him.

She knew that it was against the rules; however, the Stilinski's were the only familial connections she had to the Muggle world; she'd just claim guardianship if it was brought up.

And hey, his friends were all supernatural, if they needed to know (and Hermione figured he would probably be unable to keep it from his friends) then there'd be no problem.

Sorted.

Hermione stopped in her inner monologuing for a moment, taking a second and sitting on the toilet seat, breathing heavily.

It was _just_ a dream.

A fucking terrifying dream based on reality, but a dream none the less.

The worst part is Hermione knew she couldn't risk taking any Dreamless Sleep. She had a bad reaction to them last time…of the dependency variety. She'd clawed her way out of that hole once, she wouldn't jump back into it.

Digging into her bag, she grabbed a fresh change of clothes.

She might as well go out for a run; ward the house and see if there was anything of the villain kind to look out for whilst she was at it. Slipping into her yoga pants and trainers, she pulled her hair into a ponytail (made easier with the excessive charms on it) and smoothed down her sports bra and her tank top.

Slipping back into Stiles' room, she grabbed her mobile from where it lay charging and ahem, _borrowed_ Stiles' earbuds, before scribbling a quick note.

* * *

Grabbing her wand, Hermione started walking the perimeter of the Stilinski house and garden, Latin words falling from her lips as easy as a song as the birds chirped on, peacefully unaware as the first dregs of dawn spilt out; Hermione bathed in a warm orange glow. Soon, a softly glowing dome seemed to encapsulate the house.

A soft stream of magic flowing from a part of the dome to Hermione's wand, as if she was holding onto the thread of a balloon. She moved her wand over to a rock on the ground, pressed up against the foundations of the building.

Pressing the tip against the stone, she felt her magic rush over her body again, sighing in relief as it attached itself to the stone.

An anchor for the magic, if the stone remained in place (and thanks to a permanent sticking charm it would do) then so would the wards.

* * *

One, two, three. Inhale. Exhale. One, two, three. Inhale. Exhale.

This became Hermione's routine as she tore through the forest, her keen eyes immediately taking observations of everything as she ran around the block and started making her way into the woods.

Blood pumped and muscles ached, but Hermione pushed on, the feelings and sensations only driving her to continue with a twisted sense of pleasure.

Hermione used to hate running. Going from the Great Hall to the Astronomy tower in ten minutes would've caused stitches and wheezes and the unpleasant odour of sweat. A lot of things changed after the war, however. Hermione had to run far and fast to survive; and if she didn't get bloody good at it sharpish, she would be dead meat.

It was peacetimes now, but Hermione's sudden ability to run great distances at great speeds had become somewhat of a relaxing ritual; her mind would observe and analyse everything in the background but for the most part she could switch off and let the adrenaline and pent up energy inside of her out.

One, two three. Inhale, Ex-

"Oof!"

Hermione went tumbling down a sudden hill as she crashed into another figure; the tumbled together, and had Hermione not recognised the figure as soon as she got her bearings, she likely would've punched them, and then hexed them.

Hard.

"Oh!" She gasped slightly, her eyes wide. She was pinned under one of Stiles' friends.

What was his name…

"Oh, are you…Derek? Hale? One of Stiles' friends?" She asked, coughing slightly, unnerved by his unrelenting gaze. He seemed to snap to and blushed, scrambling back slightly and pulling Hermione up onto her feet.

"Yeah-I'm so sorry about that. I don't get people running this way usually, and I was distracted."

Hermione grinned sheepishly, nodding at his apology. "You weren't the only one. I'm so sorry for running into you." He shook her off with a smile. A hesitant one, but a smile nonetheless.

Hermione beamed, hoping to relax him. He did…slightly.

"What are you doing out this early?" He asked her, his head tilted. Hermione chuckled.

"I could ask the same for you, you realise?" She smirked. He gave her a shit eating grin in retaliation. He and Stiles were quite alike, she noticed. They probably had a huge, testosterone filled rivalry going on. Her inner laughter was halted, however.

"Technically, I was just checking the perimeters of my land. My family bought it ages ago, but it ends at the top of the hill, before the incline." He chuckled.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't realise I had been trespassing."

"No, really, don't worry about it." He answered her, and she nodded.

Silence loomed for an awkward second. Or minute. Whatever.

"S-So…how are you finding America?"

"I rather like it so far. Not so much the politicians, but the people I've met." She smiled at him. It was finally returned in full and they both started walking ahead, the hill disappearing behind them. Aside from Scott, this was Stiles' first friend- or acquaintance- Hermione had gotten the chance to properly talk to.

* * *

They talked about a variety of easy topics; Derek's life outside of Beacon Hills, Hermione's travels through Europe (albeit a heavily edited version) and how she had come to find a friend across the pond, all due to a primary school pen pal system.

Derek stopped suddenly, taking a cautious sniff.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows furrowed and a frown tugging at her lips. She would pretend to play dumb at Derek rather obviously trying to sniff something out, but she wouldn't let a problem go unnoticed.

"Stay here." He answered simply, a frown on his own face, before stalking forward slowly. Rolling her eyes, Hermione followed.

"I thought I told you to stay?"

"I'm not a Labrador thank you very much; I will do as I please. I am Stiles' friend for a reason, and this is one of them." She bit out, and Derek looked back at her, nodding apologetically.

"I didn't mean to be insulting, something just doesn't seem…right."

"And if something is 'wrong' then I'm perfectly capable of handling myself, thank you very much."

…

"Like that?" Derek asked.

* * *

Noah Stilinski and a band of deputies marched into the forest and, sighting Hermione (and Derek) he sighed in relief.

"How are you managing?" He asked her softly. Hermione had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"Honestly! I'm not a child you know. You and Derek both keep asking if I'm okay. It's nothing I can't handle."

"Walking into a pile of dead bodies isn't exactly something you should have to handle, Hermione." Derek retorted behind her, and Noah's gaze fell onto the young man. Scrutinising him. Hermione caught the words on the tip of his tongue.

"Oh, geez, Sheriff. Derek did nothing; we've been together for a while now, at least an hour or two before we found the body, and it's obvious that the body on top was only an hour old." Hermione huffed.

"How on earth do you know that?" Noah asked.

"Rate of decomposition. The body hasn't begun decomposition. Rigor Mortis sets in anything up to eight hours after death based on conditions and becomes completely stiff after about twelve. The body is still bloody warm. I did a degree in forensics and forensic biology over a couple of summers when I was younger." She stated factually, arms crossed as the men gaped at her. She rolled her eyes again.

"Where's Stiles?" She asked. He wouldn't let Noah keep him away from this, whether Hermione was here or not.

It truly was a macabre sight. Twelve bodies piled up on one another. Bodies being a literal term; the heads were strung up on a rope between two trees; completely skinned skulls at this point. The smell was acrid and crawling with bugs and maggots, but a pristine, albeit nude body of the last victim; an old Caucasian male; lay on the top, untouched. Arms crossed as if he'd been laid in a coffin.

Thankfully, Hermione didn't lose her stomach. Unthankfully, it's because she'd seen much worse.

Noah sighed in exasperation.

"He's in the cruiser. Or at least, I left him there. He probably wouldn't have moved until about five minutes after we all left, so he'll get here about-"

"-Now," Stiles responded, jogging up to his Dad and immediately pulling Hermione into a hug.

"You okay?" He asked worriedly, his face pale at the look of the crime scene that was being quickly cordoned off.

"Why does everybody keep asking that!" Hermione huffed but held Stiles tight to her.

"I just worry is all," Stiles mumbled and, a soft smile on her face, Hermione leant up to press a kiss on Stiles' cheeks.

"I know you do, I'm sorry for snapping, _Ahote._ "

"You know you don't need to apologise for anything, _Donoma." (1)_

Derek and the Sheriff looked on in confusion before Noah coughed slightly. Hermione's gaze shifted over to him.

"I'll have to take statements from you both." He said, nodding at Derek. "But it won't take long, and you can go after that. Hermione and Derek both nodded in agreement, and soon, it was over.

* * *

Hermione and Stiles sat in the police cruiser, Derek having gone back into the woods towards the property line of the old Hale house and land.

"Are you really okay?" Stiles asked for a moment. He had rattled himself, his mind immediately replacing his loved ones in his head.

 _Dad, Scott, Hermione…_ Over and over replacing them with his friends, his family.

 _Hermione. Hermione._ He pulled he towards him, holding her tight.

She'd said the body wasn't even an hour old.

What if that had been her?

He had panicked when he woke up to find the bed empty and was about to call Scott to go on a hunt when he saw her note.

He'd relaxed, and was prepared to fall back to sleep for a while; there was still an hour or so before school; but his Dad had burst in through the door, telling him to get his ass into gear.

"Hermione's stumbled into a few...bodies." Was all he was told.

Seeing her stood in front of them…

It could easily have been her.

And that thought had been weighing on him since he took her in his arms.

Hermione shifted to face him, grasping the sides of his face in her pale palms.

"Stiles. I'm okay. And even if I wasn't, I have you, okay? I'll always be okay with you around." She smiled, and his arms wrapped around her instinctively and pressed her into an embrace.

He almost _wasn't_ there. If she'd come into his life a month earlier…The Nogitsune would have no trouble killing her on the spot. Hell, probably do worse to her…

His grip tightened minutely.

He would just have to make sure it never happened again.

He could _never_ lose her.

* * *

Donoma is a Native American Omaha name meaning "sight of the sun." I like the idea of her being a "light" to Stiles, and it fit. Plus, it's spoken nicer than some of the other onesI got the information on Rigor Mortis through Google. Don't crucify me for mistakes, thanks. :')

Anyway, I hope you liked that one! Let me know what you think.


	4. The Lamb is A Lion, it Seems

"Derek?" A voice behind him questioned, and he slowly turned towards one of his young Betas. Erica. Really, she was the only one he had left. After Boyle...Isaac was more Scott's now; though the two Alphas (both in their own right) seemed to work together more often than a part. They were truly one pack...just with two Alphas.

Hey, if a literal Alpha pack existed, then one small pack could handle a born wolf and a True Alpha sharing the top dog position.

No pun intended. That was more of a Stiles thing.

Sighing slightly, he raised an eyebrow. The dirty blonde shook her curls, as if nervous about receiving punishment for the words on the tip of her tongue.

"What's been happening? You've holed me up the past few days, Derek. I have no clue what's been going on."

"You've been holed up because you backpedalled with your control and it was a full moon."

Erica growled slightly. It was true that she struggled a lot more after her lover's demise, but she _was_ getting better every day, as much as it pained her.

"Cut the bullshit."

Derek's eyes flashed red and on instinct, Erica shrank away, head downturned. He would be right to punish her.

But he didn't. Instead, he moved to rest his hands on her shoulders, and, albeit reluctantly, she turned to meet the eyes of her Alpha.

"A lot's been going on, Erica. And I wasn't sure whether you'd be ready to face something else. I explained what happened with Stiles, didn't I?"

"Eventually. As in, after Aiden died and Allison became a fucking vegetable."

"Erica. I promise I'll explain to you soon. In fact, I'm calling a pack meeting tonight." He said sombrely, moving to sit on the couch, expelling a long-awaited sigh of exhaustion. The young wolf moved, sitting on the floor by him, her hands folded over herself and knees tucked away.

"What's happened? You don't call a meeting unless some big bad is around..." She questioned.

"Are you sure you're ready, Erica? I understand if you're not; you lost somebody you cared for." He murmured, and the look in his eyes said he understood perfectly what that felt like.

Because he truly did.

There was a beat, where Erica considered his words.

"I can't...I can't stay here, or in that abandoned train cart or some place else. All...isolated. Boyle he- he wouldn't have wanted that. I'm ready. I trust you."

"And that's all I ask."

* * *

"Dear God on Earth Lydia, it's not that big a deal!" Stiles groaned, rubbing his temples.

"Not that _big a deal?"_ Lydia near-shrieked, her eyes wide and threatening. Her gaze then narrowed, as if analysing how much of an idiot Stiles truly was.

"Free, expensive, designer couture is _always_ a big deal Stilinski!"

Rolling his eyes slightly, Stiles munched on a fry. The midday sun beat down on their backs from where they sat outside, their food (a burger and curly fries _a la cafeteria_ for him) spread out among various parts of the table. Kira snapped up a slice of pizza, happily pleased by the news, even as Malia's nose wrinkled.

"Why do we have to wear a fancy dress anyway?" She asked, a grimace on her face at the thought. "I didn't know Beacon Hills even did fancy dances."

"It's not a _fancy dance_. It's a Welcoming Ball. It's traditional where Hermione comes from; so it's only natural that she wants one here." Lydia replied. She was excited about the event, and even more so when Stiles had told her about how Hermione had (in his words), "hooked them up" with only the best.

Scott, ever the mediator, jumped in, switching the topic.

"How is she doing, by the way? With the bodies and stuff." He asked, a frown tugging lopsidedly on his face, eyes furrowed slightly. The sun, though it had been pleasant before, suddenly felt dry and suffocating. Stiles took a tight swallow of his drink, inhaling the slightly peppery taste.

"She's doing better than I am, actually. I know it's odd, but...It's like she's-"

"-Seen them before?" Scott pushed, a confused and concerned look on his face. There was a beat before Stiles nodded. He hated the idea that Hermione had ever seen a dead body; let alone could possibly have _created_ a dead body. But the look on her face...

"Yeah, almost. I don't know. Like she'd seen a body before. I was trying not to throw up when I saw it, and heck, even Dad and Derek looked a bit spooked, but Hermione just...stood there. As if she were taking notes of a history book or something."

Malia's head tilted to the side in thought, before she leant forward.

"Do you think she could've-"

"No," Stiles responded shortly, meeting Malia's gaze with an intensity she'd never seen. A shiver crawled down Malia's back, and she moved away from him, even as Stiles' gaze switched towards Scott.

"There is no way Hermione hurt _anyone."_ He said, in a voice that brokered absolutely no argument whatsoever, whether from the True Alpha or any of the Pack.

"Okay, Stiles. I believe you." He responded, the atmosphere thick with the sudden tension.

"Stiles, we all know that you would be the first person to tell us if you thought something was up, no matter who it was. You say it wasn't Hermione? Then it wasn't Hermione." Lydia reassured, moving to rest her hand on his shoulder. He tilted his head stiffly towards her, taking in her earnest eyes, and nodded. Stiles' body sagged as if the air had left him.

"Did Derek find anything? I can't make a crime board whilst Hermione's at the house, she's a genius and I don't want her stumbling into danger." Stiles asked Scott suddenly.

"No, he didn't. But he wants to call a pack meeting tonight, about eight. You able to get away from the house?" Scott questioned, taking a final bite out of his sandwich.

"Yeah, Hermione's gone up to her house today. She said she's gonna be late 'cause she has some errands to run or something."

"Well, that's settled then!" Lydia exclaimed happily and firmly, clapping her hands. "Finish school, you guys go to Lacrosse practice, I'll book us all appointments from those boutiques, and then we go to Derek's."

* * *

 _A place, 100 miles north of civilisation, Somewhere. Sometime, MDT.  
_

The crunch of the snow under rigid leather boots echoed around the alleyways, carried by the frigid wind that was infused with the crisp tartness of the snowflakes that was usually absent at this time of year. The thick furs that weighted down on Hermione's shoulders dragged heavily, her face pink with cold as she puffed the air out of her mouth, cheeks and nose dusted with a rosy hue and her freckles stark against the pinked flesh of her full cheeks. Her wand cast a consistent Lumos as her only guiding light.

"I know my contacts said I could trust you, but this whole silent brooding is only validating my inherent mistrust in strangers." Hermione quipped, channelling the snark she'd grown to create after repeated exposure to Harry and Stiles throughout the years.

Her contact, Kylar, turned to her, the furs of his own weighty jacket tickling his nose as he glared at her, dark grey eyes heavy. His eyebrows were pulled back, choking on a snarl.

"Do you have any comprehension of the word silence?" He spat, his voice hushed and carrying an air of weighty gravity, his slight accent- Slavic in nature, though Hermione couldn't _quite_ place it- rumbled through in a thick brogue.

Hermione huffed.

"I'm not the Brightest Witch of my age for nothing, you know. I have full comprehension of the word silence. Silence is a noun, and means 'complete absence of sound.' And this would be considered ironic, as-"

Hermione's tirade was cut short by Kylar clamping a thick, heavy hand over her mouth; before Hermione could kick out, Kylar pressed his hooked nose against hers.

"Silence."

There was a beat, in which Hermione just glared. If she had any more impudence, she would have licked his hand; but she really didn't want to know where his hands have been, lately. Sighing inwardly, Hermione nodded. The wind whistled around her ears and she let out a long, exaggerated breath. Kylar nodded at her before, finally, removing his hand. He turned on his heel, to continue stalking forward into the night and she followed him hastily, feet dragging small tracks. A dark shadow loomed ahead, still a while away through the snow.

After what seemed like an age, Kylar stopped in place, turning and gesturing roughly to a door against what appeared to be a behemoth boulder. It was oh-so-lovingly framed with rubbish bags, creating a pungent and acrid smell that caused Hermione's stomach to lurch.

Wrinkling her nose, Hermione watched attentively as Kylar took his wand and pressed it against the door. Three times, then two times, then five times.

Waiting seemed to drag on far too long before Hermione was able to hear shuffling coming from behind the door.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and a rattle; Hermione refrained from jumping, but her eyes did widen minutely. A short, wiry-looking man swung open the doors, even shorter than her own minuscule stature. His eyebrows were thick, bushy and pepper-grey, and his nose was sharp and twitchy. Hermione mentally compared him to a mouse or rat in appearance, and immediately, she tensed.

She was not fond of rats.

He shook slightly as he stood, and a high pitched voice finally wheezed from thin and chapped lips as he removed a wand from his pocket, turning it on Kylar.

"Password." He wheedled. Kylar rolled his eyes slightly but responded in the same gruff baritone.

"Morrigan." The man-Mouse, Hermione started mentally naming him; jumped up, clapping his hands.

"It's great to see you, Kylar!" He greeted, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening as he inspected the stock still Kylar before her. Hermione herself took stock of the differences between them, her mind already analysing and cataloguing anything and everything.

Where Kylar was still and strong; Mouse was twitchy and small, ever-moving.

They finally turned towards Hermione.

"Is this her?" Mouse asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, a twinkle in his eyes that Hermione was not a stranger to. It made her uncomfortable.

Like a lamb coming to the slaughterhouse.

"Would I be here if she wasn't?" Kylar replied gruffly, the words punched through the air and getting carried away on the wind. Hermione huffed. She didn't like being looked at as a slab of meat; at the very least they could direct their words to her, for goodness' sake.

"Excuse me, but "her" is right here and has a name."

"Trust me, we know, Hermione Jane Granger." Mouse grinned, before shifting aside to let them in. Kylar was about to step forward, but Hermione moved first.

She was not a lamb for the slaughterhouse, and it would do both Kylar and Mouse to truly understand Hermione's true nature, should they wish to survive.

Hermione had never been a lamb.

She was a lion.

* * *

 _Beacon Hills County Police Station, 6 PM PST  
_

Sheriff Stilinski sighed in exasperation, his elbows on the desk and hands at the back of his neck as his forehead touched the solid wood in tired irritation.

He was working on the case of the body pile, and just received the coroner's notes.

All injuries? Made _post-mortem._

Even the decapitation.

No poison, no brute force...like they just up and died.

There was nothing connecting the victims, either. All different colour and creeds. There was not a single variable that was alike for any of them; not except for the method of murder. (And some even wondered whether it was murder or just a lot of coincidental accidents. Stilinski shot that idea down straight away.)

There was a rapping at the door.

"Dad?" Stiles asked, moving into the room. Noah looked up.

"Hey, kid." he said, leaning back in his chair.

"How's the case going?" Stiles asked.

"Like a lot of our cases have gone," Noah snarked, "Down the gutter." Stiles dropped a bag onto the desk and Noah took it, sniffing it. To his disappointment, it wasn't fast food like he hoped, rather-

"What the hell even is this?"

"Jeez, Dad. A thank you is all I need." Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes. "Anyway. It's a chicken, broccoli, and beetroot salad with couscous and avocado pesto. You do _not_ need to be ingesting cholesterol into your system every late night." He defended, and Noah, resignedly, nodded thanks to his son.

He'll get a deputy to grab him something later.

"Do you have any ideas, son?" The Sheriff asked seriously. He trusted Stiles' keen observational skills. Sadly, Stiles shook his head.

"Not yet, no. Derek's holding a pack meeting tonight, and, he's even invited Deaton. I'm probably not going to be home until later."

"That's okay Son. Just stay safe. Have you told Hermione?" Noah asked, moving some of his files behind him. Stiles sighed, flopping into the chair in front of his father's desk, and let out a long drawn sigh.

"She's running errands, she messaged me earlier, she's going to be back tomorrow, she thinks. Apparently people 'just cannot do their jobs correctly.'" Stiles responded. Noah just gave his son a pointed look until he blushed, ducking his head.

"Not what I meant."

"Oh, yeah. No, not happened yet."

"Well, why not?"

"Oh, because I can just go 'Oh, hey Hermione, how are you doing, you look great today also my friends are all supernatural and I was once possessed and murdered people.' Yeah, that'll go down great."

Noah rolled his eyes.

"Stop being dramatic, Stiles. If _anyone_ was going to be accepting of the supernatural, it'll be Hermione. She cares so much about you, kid. She won't mind."

"Sure. I just, I don't know. It's dangerous. I don't want Hermione getting involved."

"If she doesn't find out, then she could be in danger without knowing it. And if she gets put in danger, what do you think will be worse? Her knowing beforehand, or her feeling betrayed because you knew and didn't tell her?"

Stiles nodded slowly, looking away from his dad. He knew he was right...he just didn't want Hermione to get hurt.

 _Or to hate him for everything he's done._

"I'm going to ask about it in the meeting tonight. I don't want to say something without everybody's O-K."

* * *

 _Derek's Loft, 9 PM PST_

Stiles was the last one to arrive. He pulled Roscoe out of the street and parked, taking a quick glance at the warm yellow spilling from the window of Derek's apartment. He had to (albeit reluctantly) admit that Derek had scored a pretty sweet home.

"Hey there, Sourworlf." Stiles snarked as he slipped inside, bobbing his head. Derek just shot him a glare, but in all honesty? He was starting to get used to that look.

Nothing was more blood chilling to Stiles than the man (fox) made of bandages (wearing _his_ face.)

"Nice of you to finally show up," Derek responded, and Stiles raised his eyebrow. He was about to retort back, but Scot cut in (like always) and turned the topic of conversation around.

"Deaton, Derek, did either of you find out anything about those bodies?" Stiles' attention turned towards the Emissary-cum-vet and raised an eyebrow at the stoic man.

"It looks," he began, "like some sort of ritualistic sacrificing. The placing of the bodies, the stringing up of the heads. But if it is, it's not any ritual I've ever heard about."

"Is there any sort of scarification rituals that require one element? Like the body piles or heads?" Lydia asked, crossing her arms round her. "Maybe on factor is just the result of another, more important one." Deaton considered her words.

"Possibly. However, my knowledge of ritual sacrificing is limited. These texts are usually either lost to the times, or forbidden. I've been translating all my books to find something, but if it's there, I haven't come across it yet."

"How did they die, anyway?" Kira asked. Malia, from her spot across the room (and Stiles was painfully reminded of how they'd had that night and then he'd just ignored her,) snorted.

"They had their heads cut off, how do you think?" She responded. Kira blushed and looked down, but Stiles knew otherwise.

"Actually," he began, and felt rather unnerved when everybody's heads turned to face towards him, "I looked at my dad's case file. The coroner's report said there was nothing in their bodies. No toxins, or anything whatsoever. And yet, all their injuries, even the beheadings, were don post-mortem. My dad said it's like they just 'up and died.'"

"Did either of you notice anything when you were there? Odd smells, or substances?" Deaton asked, his eyes flickering to Derek also.

"No, but the air felt...thick. Sad. I figured it was just because there were dead bodies." Stiles admitted with a shrug. Derek, with his arms crossed in front of him like they usually were (Broody McBroodface much?), and took a moment.

"Derek?" Sighing, Derek looked around the room, his gaze lingered on Stiles, but he refused to meet Stiles' eyes.

"Hermione," He began, but was immediately cut off.

 _"No."_

Stiles spat the word out as he began to glare heatedly at the werewolf, eyes blazing angrily. "I've said it to the others, and I'll say it to you. Hermione is _not_ the one doing this."

"I never said she was, but you'd know that if you'd just let me finish my sentence." Derek retorted, and Scot moved to place a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Stiles, like we said, nobody believes Hermione's the killer. What were you saying, Derek?"

"I was saying. I think the sadness feeling...it was Hermione. When we found the bodies she was shocked, but she wasn't scared or freaked. Hell, she was calmer than I was and she was analysing everything. She was kind of...resigned; like she'd seen it before. She felt, well, heartbroken. I felt a wave of it come over me suddenly." He started. He then turned to Stiles.

"When she turned up on your doorstep, I could sense the power. My _wolf_ sensed it." Stiles' eyes widened.

"No, she doesn't have power, she's human, just like me." He insisted, though his gaze turned to Scott and the others. They shifted uncomfortably.

"Listen, Stiles...I think Derek is right. I don't think Hermione is dangerous, but I don't think she's all...human."

"He's right." Malia nodded, her head jerking towards the young Alpha. "My coyote felt calm, but like it needed to do whatever Hermione said." Stiles huffed angrily.

"I'm telling you, Hermione is just another human." He refused to believe that she could be stirred up in anything even remotely supernatural.

"Okay then," Lydia stated, a determined look on her face and her arms akimbo. "If she's human, maybe there is something supernatural attached to her. Maybe she's in danger. If that's the case, what are we going to do?" She asked. Stiles knew that Lydia was taking the Pack's side on this one, but he didn't have the fire in him at the moment to really fight it.

"I don't know. Well, I was considering, with everybody's permission, if I-"

"Tell her." Said Derek shortly, nodding. "It's the smart decision to make."

"Oh _please_ , he's just saying that 'cause she's hot."

Everybody's head swiveled towards the front door. Erica and Isaac both stood there, Isaac leaning against the door frame and Erica holding one hand to her hip as she smirked. Derek glared and Stiles spluttered, the thought of Derek and _Hermione_ creating an odd, disgusted feeling in his stomach.

"Erica." Derek huffed, and the blonde rolled her eyes. She looked better than Stiles had seen her in a while. Mainly because he hadn't seen her.

"How was the hospital?" Scot asked, an odd lump in his throat.

To everybody's surprise, Isaac's face lit up in a smile they'd _never_ seen on the habitual scarf-wearing grump.

"Allison...she woke up. Only for a little bit, but the doctor's say that's completely natural. She's okay, but when she can stay awake for more than a few second they're going to run some tests, making sure everything working as it should. But she's okay." He breathed, and the atmosphere changed momentarily. The relief they all felt was palpable, but it didn't distract them too much from the topic at hand.

"I agree with Derek." Deaton said suddenly. "Tell...Hermione...anything and everything. If she is in danger, we need to know she's aware of that." He stated simply, though the look in his eyes did not disguise that Deaton was holding information back. But Stiles; who's body sagged with relief at the thought that he hadn't caused his friend's death, and fear that she'd hate him for nearly killing her, could not bear to push the issue further.

Well, then.

Hermione would be told everything.

The silence that reigned after the decision had been named felt cloying to Stiles, whom was so unused to not even the smallest buzz of noise.

 _Briiiiing. Briiiiiiing. Briiiiing._

The sound of a sudden call made everybody jump, and Stiles fumbled in his pocket to grab his mobile, answering an unkown number.

"Hello?" He asked.

 _"S-Stiles?"_ The unmistakable voice of the woman of the meeting cause Stiles to step back, a physical blow punctuating the air as a sickly feeling of unease washed over the young man.

"Hermione? What's up? This isn't your mobile."

 _"L-Lost it,"_ she started, her voice hoarse and weak and shaking, and Stiles felt his own shoulders begin to shake with concern.

 _"I'm in a tel-telephone booth...ugh...Stiles...where's the nearest h-hospital?"_

"What's happened? Hermione? Hermione, where are you?" He started pacing around, the phone clutched so tight in his hands as he put the phone onto speaker (mainly for Lydia's benefit.)

 _"A...a street. Ma-Maplewood Aven-ven-Avenue."_ Hermione took a sudden, rattling breath, and she sounded dead.

"I'm on my way, okay Hermione? I'll be there soon, it's not too far from here. I'm coming, okay?" Stiles spluttered, his heart pounding.

 _"O-okay...I'm about to run out of ch-"_

* * *

 ** _Welp. I'm sorry this has been so long, I struggled so much with this chapter. As you can tell, it's written a bit differently. I really ahven't enjoyed the style I've been writing in, it's been terrible, but idk...I have a variety of writing styles, so I tried switching it up a bit. IDK if it went well, plase let me know what you think. God, this one was a slog. And hey, yeah, Hermione is a lion, not a lamb. But she's not invincible, okay? I'm not making her some Mary-Sue. She thinks she can do it all, but she can't always, and she's gonna be learning that the hard way.  
_**


	5. The Revelations on the Road

_**Okay, so.**_

 _ **I'm so sorry for the loong delay. This was a huge bloody drag to write, it really was. And with ffnet down on the emails, I didn't want people to not be notified about the new post. There's a lot more info in the author's note at the bottom, and I think it's pretty important that you read it. Enjoy, if you can. This one was pretty shit.**_

* * *

 _ **"**_ The hospital was far closer to Maplewood Avenue than they were. Scott immediately called his mom and got an ambulance on their way and Stiles, terrified and antsy, was moved into Derek's less-breakable, much faster car, the whole pack bundling into their own vehicles as the Hale wolf peeled out into the night.

Stiles had darted into the hospital immediately, not waiting before heading straight to the receptionist's desk, the scent of sterility and medicine seeming even more pungent in the clinical white of the facility.

"Stiles, honey." Melissa McCall, nurse and angel-on-earth called out to him before he had a chance to get to the desk. Her eyes were wide and sympathetic, and through Stiles' full-body shaking, she managed to break into the more rational side of him.

"Stiles, sweetie, you need to calm down. Your friend- Hermione, right? We found her fast and we got her into surgery, she's in there now. She'll be okay."

Sterile sanitised environment. Flickering fluorescent lights. A young man, worried for his friend's life. Stiles' body let out a shudder and his eyes widened fractionally. "S-Surgery?" He asked, as he physically deflated, stumbling back. Melissa helped him into a seat and pulled the boy; whom she considered a second son- into a warm and soothing hug. Stiles' body wracked with heaving sobs, his breathing becoming choked.

"Breathe we me, Stiles. In and out; slowly." Melissa had witnessed many panic attacks from the youngest Stilinski; she knew the signs to look out for, but it really wouldn't help him to freak out in the hospital. Eventually, the boy stilled. His hands were shaking and sobs became more sniffles and jitters.

"H-how was she?" Stiles asked her, swallowing hard. "What are her in-injuries?" The look he gave Melissa displayed how determined he was to get the truth, no matter how much it hurt. With a heavy sigh, Melissa conceded to his will.

"Not a huge injury. Smaller ones, which added up. She was unconscious when the EMTs found her. Her legs were all cut up; as were her arms and back...she looked like she'd been in a fight. The worst of her injuries occurred on her torso." Melissa herself let out a shuddering breath. She'd been first to see Hermione wheeled in by the EMTs. The girl looked bloody, bruised, and reminiscent of death itself. "Whatever happened to her caused her to fracture seven of her ribs on the left side of her torso. Her right side...was extremely damaged. She's in surgery right now to fix it up. She'll take a while to recover, but she'll survive, Stiles." He nodded, his gaze focused on the clock on the opposite wall.

"When can I see her?" He asked plainly. His phone buzzed, and, checking it, he noticed Scott's name flash onscreen.

Scott: Hey, dude. We're getting parked up now; Derek said he'd be waiting outside for us.

Stiles started momentarily; he hadn't even noticed Derek's absence.

"Soon, as soon as she's out of surgery. She may be asleep or groggy, as she's under heavy doses of anaesthetic, but you'll be able to see her. Can you deal with that?"

"Sure." Stiles breathed, his heart-though still constricted and pained- slowed slightly.

"Good. I need to go continue my rounds, but I'll be back soon, okay? I'll let you know the second Hermione wakes up." Stiles nodded absently, his eyes becoming distant and unfocused. Though still concerned, Melissa turned on her heels and moved down the hall.

* * *

Lydia had been the first to reach him; she sat next to him and immediately pulled Stiles into a hug; their friendship, though relatively new, had grown exponentially. She knew that the boy was once infatuated with her, but their relationship had changed that; they were friends, and Stiles seemed to have moved on. (Even if Lydia was the only one who had noticed, like always.) The strawberry-blonde's arms held him close, and his head dropped onto her shoulder. "It'll be okay, Stiles." She soothed, running a hand up and down his arm. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I-I know. Thank you, Lydia." He breathed back and Lydia huffed slightly in response. Stiles, confused, turned to look at Lydia.

"What's wrong?" He asked her, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. She rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Stilinski. You don't need to say thank you, you idiot. I'm your friend, of course I'll be there for you." She huffed again, though there was a teasing glint in her eyes. Stiles ducked his head, cheeks colouring, even as the barest smile flitted across his face.

Stiles registered the rest of the pack making their way towards him. He flashed one last, thankful look at Lydia before he turned, a weary look forming on his face as he tried to smile.

"Hey, guys."

* * *

Sweet Circe, I need the loo, thought Hermione Jane Granger. And not just as if she'd woken up in the morning, more of an "if I don't get to a toilet now there'll be a huge mess. Not hesitating for a second she lept up, ignored the pull of the various drips and monitors attached to her and ripped a needle out of her arm, stumbling to the little bathroom at the side of the room the second she'd noticed it, shutting the door behind the wails and beeps of the haywire machines.

She near on hobbled out of the bathroom, her previous adrenaline rush had waned and Hermione had been left sore, weak, and aching; she'd clung to the sink and inspected her injuries; she looked deathly, with gaunt cheeks that echoed to her from another, darker point in her life. Merlin, she was lucky to be a witch. She'd managed to apparate and had healed most of her injuries before she called Stiles; a muggle would've died from them.

Still, it didn't help her now, even as she unlocked the door and stumbled her way back to her bed. Or, she tried to at least, if not for the nurses grabbing her and practically shoving her onto the mattress.

"What on earth are you doing young lady? You gave us all a fright!" The head nurse scowled as he shoved Hermione back down, the loud machines finally quieting as he began, much to Hermione's displeasure, hooking everything back up in position.

"I needed the loo, bloody hell!" Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, crossing her arms underneath her even as the nurse tried to attach the IV drips once more.

"And can you please stop that! I'm fine, I don't want any of that thanks."

"You'll take what we give and keep quiet! Doctor's orders are to be followed, young lady."

Hermione began to retort, but she had gotten cut off by a tall, lean figure.

"That's enough, Andrew. I'm sure Miss Granger will be okay for a few moments, and she's been sleeping long enough anyway." The doctor smiled genially at the nurse and, with a scowl, the man left. Hermione sighed in relief, body sagging slightly as the doctor turned to face her.

"Hello Miss Granger," He smiled again. "I'm Doctor Miller. I can understand how this can be quite a shock to you, waking up in an unusual environment but I believe that you may have gained the scorn of the nurses." He chuckled, clipboard in hand.

"Honestly," Hermione insisted, a hint of a smile on her own face. "I'm not shocked at all, I called Stiles. Obviously I needed medical attention, and he got me it." Doctor Miller chuckled again, wiry orange hair stabbing into Hermione's gut slightly and she held back a grimace. "Is Stiles okay?"

"Miss Granger! You're the one in hospital, we should be asking that about you; especially with the extent of injuries you came to us with. Care to explain that?" He asked, his eyes raised high on his forehead.

"Not particularly." Hermione responded, hiding a small grin as the Doctor spluttered; she saw him take a deep breath and mutter to himself. Hermione had never liked being in hospitals. Well, not when it was her with the problem. They reminded the young witch of death; but, she supposed, that seemed to be a reoccurring situation in her life.

"I feel like this will go nowhere fast." Doctor Miller sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nevertheless, we've patched you up. We want you to stay here until the afternoon, but we'll let you call somebody to pick you up when we discharge you." He strode across the room, scribbling something down on the clipboard before slipping his pen into his uniform pocket.

"How long have I been here?" Hermione asked him. She knew she must've stayed overnight, as it was morning now; and with the extent of her injuries, it must've been a couple of days, despite what she'd managed to heal herself.

"A week. Well, a week and three days. Visiting hours will begin soon; I expect the news of your newfound state of consciousness will be a great relief to your friends."

And Doctor Miller left.

Hermione reeled. Unconscious for so long? That was a genuine surprise. Hermione sat back to process it all. She hadn't known that her injuries were that bad. Maybe due to a magical drain? Though she hadn't experienced such a drain in so long. Hermione's magical core was powerful; she managed to ward the Stilinski household indefinitely with little trouble, for goodness sake!

Hermione gazed around the room. No use worrying just yet, she can figure it all out when she's out of the hospital. As much as she'd like to apparate away the hospital had already logged her into the system; best to just wait. Spotting her clothes on the floor Hermione moved back into the bathroom; a shower was just what was needed to sort her head out, even if the quality of toiletries was lacking. Her beaded bag lay on a chair beside her, and she grabbed it too; she had some leftover Sleakeasy's in there somewhere.

The steam infused Hermione's lungs with a soft, dense heat as rivulets of water beat down on her skin; sinking down into the pores of her skin like a rock falling into the stillest of lakes; causing shudders of relief to ripple out of every cell and nerve ending. Hermione let out a relieved sigh as she felt her messy curls unravelling; though she'd grown them long, they grey even more when the water straightened them out, the wet ends tickled the small of her back as she allowed her muscles to relax, the dull aches becoming smaller. She had to drag herself to finish the shower; time seemed to disappear under the water, but eventually Hermione mustered up the willpower to finish her shower, redressing the bandages and changing quickly into loose and comfortable clothes, braiding her hair back and then up into a bun with a wave of her hand. She grabbed an old quidditch Jersey of Harry's, the red and gold bright against her pale skin, the words "POTTER" emblazoned in large letters on her back. She slipped fluffy socks on her feet and under her leggings before moving back into hospital room. She may be trapped in there but it didn't mean she'd have to remain bored out of her mind, so she fished out several old tomes from her beaded bag and settled comfortably into the bed.

That was how Stiles found Hermione when visiting hours rolled around. He'd practically run to the room as soon as the nurses on staff had told him the news.

She was awake.

He'd bolted; wanting to spend every second he could with her. He brushed off the notions of her being too tired to talk, or of her going in and out of sleep. No, this was Hermione. She may have been unconscious, but she'd not sleep any longer than she'd have to. Her insurance had paid for a plush, private room, and as Stiles completed the now-ingrained route to her room he noticed that the blinds were closed. He knocked on the door and opened it on the lack of response. There she was, surrounded by huge, dusty, old books with titles that Stiles couldn't discern. She wore some sort of sport's jersey in a deep red, her hair tied up and oddly smooth; she would've looked more like she had been on holiday, if it weren't for the sunken, pale cheeks and wrapped bandages he could see that had peaked out from her shirt.

"Hermione?" He called, holding back a short laugh as she jumped, startled. Her gaze moved towards him and without hesitation, Hermione smiled widely.

"Stiles!" She exclaimed, the dimples of her cheeks wide. He smiled back a second before surging forward and wrapping her in a hug. Laughing, relieved tears pricked at his eyes and he tried to push them back. He had known she'd be okay; but this? Part of him was scared that she wouldn't wake up. A short 'oof' noise caused him to pull back slightly; Hermione was fighting back a grimace and Stiles ducked his head.

"Stiles sweetheart I love you but you're going to have to loosen up on the patient a tad." She quipped, and this time he hugged her more carefully. He moved onto the bed and pulled her into his arms between his legs, arms wrapped around her torso and head buried into Hermione's neck. He knew that to an ignorant observer the position would seem quite intimate, but he had been without her for too long. He needed to be wrapped up in Hermione and in the knowledge, that she was okay; that she was here, with him.

"I missed you." He mumbled into her hair. "Don't ever scare me like that again." He grumbled, only half-joking. He could feel Hermione's body shake as she held back a laugh and tickled her sides slightly, causing a shocked yelp of laughter to escape from Hermione's lips.

"Stiles!" She squirmed, giggling.

"I mean it! I was losing my mind, Hermione."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. But I'm okay now, right? I'll be safer, I promise." Stiles moved his face to look at the young woman, eyebrow raised. He knew she wouldn't tell him what had happened; at least not until she was ready; so, he didn't push the matter. He simply held her close. Hermione jostled slightly, and moved to press a kiss to his temple before wriggling to lay her head against his chest, a hand automatically reaching up to stroke through his hair, her foot absently pushing several of the large tomes back on the bed so that the pair could stretch out more languidly.

"I promise I'll be safer, Stiles." She said simply, as Stiles moved to run his palm gently along her side. They were both wrapped up in each other; oblivious to the world and yet more aware of how each other needed this contact right now. They depended on each other completely in this moment; and they both knew that together, everything would work out okay.

Despite all the secrets between them.

"Stiles, I'm not made of glass, I can make it to your Jeep by myself!" Hermione insisted. Stiles wouldn't relent as he pushed her down into a hospital wheelchair, making their way down to the exit that afternoon; Doctor Miller had discharged Hermione; so long as she kept up with a regimen of painkillers and antibiotics and refrained from 'strenuous exercise'. (Stiles had Doctor Miller's reaction when Hermione had asked if it included sex forever ingrained in his brain.)

"You're an arse, you know that, right?" She asked him, huffing as he just chuckled, making his way through the lobby.

"Oh please, you love me, 'arse' and all," Stiles retorted, his exaggerated British 'accent' making Hermione's skin crawl. He finally stopped just outside; but rather than letting Hermione walk it to the Jeep, he picked her up. His strength was surprising to Hermione, who'd figured that with his lean and long figure he wouldn't have much upper arm strength. She squealed in surprise, hitting his arm as he laughed, carrying her close to his chest and making her wrap her arms around his waist in fear of being dropped.

"Stiles!" She grouched, his rumbling laughter flaring her annoyance. "You're a bloody prick. I can walk, you know!" She protested. She slapped his chest again but, knowing it was futile, she quickly gave up, instead just resting her head there instead, mumbling little curse words into the young Stilinski's shirt.

"Your carriage, oh Ungrateful One." Stiles quipped as they reached Roscoe (though Hermione had begun calling the Jeep Diane in her head.) He set her down on the floor, grinning down at her significantly shorter self smugly. Hermione rolled her eyes, but thanked him and climbed inside anyway, shutting the door behind her and doing up the belt as Stiles did the same beside her.

The afternoon sunlight crested the tops of the trees that lined the back road; empty, except for the vehicle speeding along the long drive. A dusty sky blue; worn and aged and taped up more times than one could count, the second-hand Jeep tore down the streets, thrumming with the life of the engine and the life of the two teenagers inside; singing along to the old rock music that blared through the speakers.

"And I don't ever want to feeeel, like I did that day!" Sang a young man, drawing laughter from the girl beside him as the words fell from his lips in a loud, exaggerated tone.

"Take me to the place I looove, take me all the way!" The girl responded in kind; the two laughed even as they continued singing; being out on the open road was a catharsis that both desperately needed; they had not acted like teenagers in so long; responsibilities burdening themselves ever higher on the pair's back.

Their happiness did not last for long, however. It was the girl that noticed the figure speeding towards the Jeep and she shouted out.

"STILES LOOK OUT!"

The young man swerved suddenly, narrowly avoiding the figure as the Jeep screeched and squealed along the concrete road, black tyre marks painting the road as they spun several times before Stiles managed to stop the car; narrowly avoiding a crash into a nearby tree. Hearts pounding with shock and adrenalin, the pair stepped out of the vehicle, all traces of joy replaced with shock, confusion, and tension.

"What the hell was that, Hermione?" Stiles muttered, raking a hand through his hair. Tense, but slightly shaken. Hermione clasped Stiles' right hand in her left and squeezed it, her other hand preparing to unleash the small but powerful tool she kept concealed on her arm.

She could kill, if she needed to.

Hermione didn't get the chance to answer Stiles however, as the object shifted, around a hundred metres away from the pair. Grey and both scaly and leathery, it seemed to have a sticky sheen on its…four limbs and tail. The grey of the skin was mottled, wrapped around its bones like intestines stretched thin over sausage meat; almost translucent. Its tail seemed just as slimy; the same length as the rest of its body and indeed translucent; blood vessels and arteries visible. The four limbs were home to three long, black talons that mimicked the spikes on its head; it had no eyes, simply slits for a nose, and a huge, gaping mouth with a long forked tongue. Hermione and Stiles both noticed the greenish colour as it dripped with a yellow substance and wrapped itself around a row of long, razor sharp, curved teeth.

The beast let out a screeching wail; more snakelike in nature than human.

Surprisingly, Hermione had met several of these creatures before.

Hermione didn't necessarily want to tell Stiles her secret just yet; but, she supposed, she'd rather be alive to explain it than dead.

Just as she was about to release her weapon; for now, it was truly a weapon; a large roar echoed it's way behind her; birds scattered themselves into the air as the pair turned.

Hermione recognised nearly every single one of them.

Scott. Derek. Malia. Isaac. A blonde, who she didn't recognise, but must be okay enough if she was there. They were snarling, eyes glowing and claws for fingernails. Kira and Lydia were there too; Lydia's eyes wide but face resolute, the young banshee having sensed the death about to occur; and Kira, wielding a long sword and eyes glowing with a fiery orange.

Stiles sputtered slightly and turned to Hermione.

"There was something I was going to wait to tell you, but…" He trailed off, chewing his lip despite the nature of the situation. Hermione smiled.

"It's okay. I've been hiding something, too. Just don't freak out." She smiled, drawing a single bark of laughter from the Sherriff's son as she turned to the beast that had begun to slowly advance. The familiar warmth of her imbued wooden weapon flooded her body as she held it in her hands; pulsating and tangible as her magic seemed to be these days. Despite everybody else's warning she stepped away from Stiles and towards the beast.

She raised her wand, her peripheral vision going to the wide-eyed Stilinski, and she brushed off the warnings from the pack behind her.

"You've been a bad little pet, haven't you?" She spoke clearly. The beast stilled and cocked his head. "Your master has been a very bad boy you know; making you kill those people." She stepped forward again, her spare hand waving around her; ignoring the shocked shouts from those behind her as they found themselves unable to move forward any more.

"Then again, I doubt you know anything else. He did create you for killing. It's a shame. I don't want to have to kill you, you know." She spoke again, as if she were simply making polite conversation.

The creature itself didn't understand much. Not except for the word, "kill."

It screeched again, and lept forwards.

* * *

 **Not gonna lie; this was an absolutely atrocious chapter. My tenses and writing styles are all over the place with this one and I just can't seem to pin down a definitive style for this fic. I'm looking for a beta but I have no idea how to go about that so if anybody's interested in keeping me on track then let me know through pm.**

 **Furthermore, whilst I never stated I would be a regular updater, I am so sorry for waiting so long to upload this. Truly. I have been going through a lot of shit at home and school and with exams and whilst those are just considered 'excuses' along with my seeming disappearing ability to write a coherent sentence (let alone a chapter,) I promise you, I've been working on this every spare moment I have. Please forgive me.**

 **However, I do have a bit of a gripe.**

 **I know everybody's like "it doesn't matter about the reviews! write for yourself!"**

 **That's all well and good. But I enjoy writing for other people. I thrive off of feedback and of sharing my work with other people; if I didn't I wouldn't be writing this for FFNET, and I certainly wouldn't be here, basically begging for more reviews. I don't mind whether it's just an "I liked this chapter" or "please update", but the more you review the less shitty I feel and the more I write; even if you just write me an essay on everything wrong with this chapter. (CONSTRUCTIVELY, don't be an arse thanks.) Please, if you've ever posted a story to FFNET you know how important reviews and comments and private messages are to writers; even if we don't respond to them all or loose track of which reviewers we've messaged, we do read every single one of them.**

 **Not reviewing is the equivalent of telling me I'm wasting my time; it's pointless and makes me want to not bother.**

 **If you care about fanfiction; if you want new chapters; if you want know the stories created from some of the most brilliant minds I know, please, please, review the fanfictions you read, even if you don't enjoy it.**

 **Until next time.**


	6. The Chapter that Explains Nothing

**This was a long wait. I apologise. I've almost finished exams and obviously, they do take priority. I should be back to regular writing soon! This is also not a great chapter, please please don't crucify me**

* * *

Stiles pounded his fist against the air, hitting the invisible barrier Hermione had created with…magic?

Fucking hell.

Stiles knew he shouldn't be all that shocked, considering his best friend had been part of the supernatural for a little while now. Not to mention Deaton himself was a druid. But this was unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

And not only was Hermione magical, she was facing off with some sort of grotesque beast.

A beast Stiles couldn't protect Hermione from.

He watched, terrified as Hermione spoke to the creature, treating it as if it were nothing more than a naughty pet. What on earth was she doing? Questions raced through Stiles' mind yet he was just drawing blanks.

The creature lept suddenly, and Stiles barely registered Lydia's scared shout as his own heart lodged in his throat. He watched, Scott holding his shoulders back, worried that Stiles would (futilely) try to break through the constructed barrier.

Hermione dodged deftly, spinning on her heel and with a crack, managed to reappear the other side of the creature. She smirked and shouted.

 _"Flipendo!"_ A lilac light shot out from the tip of her wooden stick- a wand? - and the creature flipped back into the air, skittering further back from where Stiles stood. The creature let out a loud, wretched wail and stood again, Hermione responding with another nonsensical word.

" _Stupefy!_ " The creature barely dodged the light in time, trying to reach Hermione through a sudden barrage of words and lights that fell from her tongue as she moved around, further and further away from the group that were stood, waiting with bated breath.

The creature flung itself at the young woman and the two seemed to tumble down, its large tail swiping as it let out a roar into Hermione's face, about to seemingly bite her head off, when she yelled one last time.

There was a thud and a silence.

"Hermione?" Stiles shouted. Hermione and the creature had moved about thirty feet or so away from them. All Stiles knew in that moment was that the beast was on top of his friend and that there were no sounds or movements.

The barrier that seemed to separate them flickered in a soft pink light, before dying.

One step, then two, and then Stiles was at the creature, calling for Hermione. He noticed, first, the gaping hole in its head; the blood and rancid stench made the young Stilinski want to vomit.

It was dead.

Stiles shoved the creature off Hermione's body, kneeling beside her as she lay, a few grazes and gashes on her skin, and her lip burst.

"Hermione?" Stiles whispered brokenly. He'd just gotten her better again, only to lose her now? Not a chance.

"I'm here, Stiles. I'm here." Came the soft, hoarse whispers from his once-pen pal. Stiles let out a relieved sound as Hermione's eyes flickered open to give him a soft, tentative smile. Stilinski let out a whoop of laughter, pulling her up into his arms and embracing her tightly; he could feel Hermione bury her face in the crook of his neck and chest before he placed his chin atop her head, sighing in relief.

"Fuck, you had me worried there." He whispered, pulling back to look at her not in anger, but in worry. Hermione's own eyes glistened.

"I'm sorry…for worrying you, and for, well…" Hermione trailed off, biting her lip and she shrugged awkwardly. She gestured to herself. "All this. I guess the cat's out of the bag, now."

"Nah, more like the wolves are out of the cages." Stiles quipped, giving her a forgiving grin as Hermione snorted, her eyes moving to the rest of the pack; the auditorily-gifted members groaning at the pun.

Hermione slid away from Stiles, standing up. She felt the teen stand beside her as she moved to the rest of the pack, her gaze hesitant but blatantly refusing to hide or shy away in shame.

"Anywhere we can go to talk about this?" Hermione asked, looking more towards Derek when she saw the pack to the same.

"We can talk at the loft." Hermione nodded, spinning her focus back to Scott.

"Get me the address and I'll meet you in there in two hours. If I'm really explaining everything, then I'll need to get some stuff from Stiles'. Collect anybody and everybody you want in the know."

"Does that include my Dad?" Stiles asked, and Hermione nodded with a smile. "Anybody that can keep a secret and knows about your supernatural capabilities." Hermione clarified.

"Stiles, I want you to go with them, okay? I have some stuff to do." Hermione added, noticing the look Stiles gave her. "I just need to collect some stuff and it'll be easier for me to get it done quickly if I do it alone." She insisted.

Stiles let out a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose." He conceded, finally. Hermione grinned, ruffling his hair.

"Thank you, Daisy!" She grinned, hearing Stiles exclaim behind her as she twisted, disappearing with a loud crack.

Stiles turned to the stunned pack, sighing and raking a hand through his hair.

"Why did she call you Daisy? Your name is Stiles" Malia asked.

Stiles groaned as a few snorts turned into full blown hysterics.

This was going to be a long couple of hours.

* * *

They'd made it to Derek's loft with a lot of time to spare. After the pack had (finally) calmed down, Stiles had texted Hermione the address.

They'd also rallied together everybody they figured had a right to be in the know. Deaton was on his way, as were Melissa and the Sherriff in his squad car. Chris Argent was also getting there, having been finally allowed to take Allison home after her long stint in a coma.

 _A coma that was my fault._ Stiles couldn't help but think. How could he not blame himself? It may have been a creature first-possessing then- copying his body, but it was still _his hands_ and _his words_ that caused all those deaths at the hospital…Aiden's…and then nearly Allison's too. He was a monster, and no matter how many people tried to tell him otherwise, he knew that it was all his fault.

Allison probably hated him right now, and he wouldn't blame her whatsoever.

He'd managed to stave off the guilt and self-doubt and sheer hatred for himself for a while, what with Hermione around, but he knew these feelings wouldn't remain buried for long.

They had snuck up on him, like a vicious viper ready to poison his skin like he poisoned the world around him with his presence.

"You okay?" Scott asked, sliding into the seat next to him. Stiles had managed to find a quite spot to perch and brood. Stiles nodded, shrugging noncommittally.

"Yeah, sure. I'm fine." Stiles responded, trying his best to sound casual.

"Stiles. Even without being a werewolf; you're my best friend. I know when you're lying to me."

"I swear, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me, Scotty." Stiles insisted.

Scott bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, paused in thought. He leant closer, his voice softening.

"Is…is this about Hermione?

"No, of course not! I mean, I'm worried, but no. I'm A-Okay."

"…Allison?"

"..."

"Stiles, you don't need to-"

"To what, Scott?" Stiles questioned, his eyes wide and mouth set into a straight line. Scott's heart lurched for his friend-cum-brother.

"You say you don't blame me. None of you do. But you should. I hurt her, I could've killed her, I killed so many people, Scott. I wouldn't blame anyone for wanting me gone."

 _"_ Stilinski, that's possibly the _dumbest_ thing I've ever heard from your mouth _."_ A female voice, slightly strained but familiar and strong cut in before Scott could respond. The boys turned their gazes and gasped.

"A-Allison?" Stiles stuttered, watching the girl that stood near them, half-supported by Isaac, Chris Argent only a few paces behind and hauling a few bags with him. She pushed away from Isaac's protective hold to stand in front of him, arms akimbo.

"Don't you dare, Stiles." She huffed, bending down to meet eye level with him. She continued to speak, gaze never straying from his eyes as she repeatedly poked his chest, punctuating every word.

"Don't you _ever_ blame yourself for _anything_ that happened with the Nogitsune. Your body is not you; you are your soul. And it was _not_ your soul who did those things, and it's not _your fault_ the Nogitsune was able to do those things. You were stronger and resisted longer than anybody else would've been able to. Don't you _dare._ " She finalised, seeing Stiles' eyes shining slightly with unshed tears.

"I don't blame you. Ethan doesn't blame you for Aiden's death." She added, voice softer this time.

"And hey Stiles, really, all this was Mom's fault," Kira added softly, from her place at Scott's side. Stiles hadn't even realised, but all his friends stood around him or sat by him. Stiles looked around him. Not one face held a trace of loathing or pity.

Just concern.

Stiles nodded slowly, conceding, truly, to forgive himself.

Allison perked up and smiled. "Now, can I _please_ have a hug from my only non-supernatural best friend?" She asked. Stiles grinned up at her, opening his arms. With a laugh, she held him close, squeezing him tightly. Stiles' chest grew warm as the rest of the pack started to conglomerate there in the embrace, the short hug turning into a moment of family and comfort.

Scott. Allison. Lydia. Kira. Malia. Isaac. Erica. Even Derek had joined the hug at some point; all finding relief and collectively healing together. As a pack.

 _Click!_

"This is possibly the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my life. It's sickening." The sudden, unwelcome voice pierced through the sincerity of the moment and the pack broke apart.

"Peter?" Lydia growled, eyebrows furrowed. She loathed the man. She was never certain whether he was a good, misguided guy, an asshole, or an evil bastard.

Considering her past experiences with him, she leant towards the latter view. Derek stood and growled, his eyes flashing blue even as Chris re-appeared, Deaton now at his side, both poised and ready to fight if needs be- though Stiles did wonder how useful Deaton would truly be.

"You're not welcome here, Peter," Derek growled.

"Really? You'd kick me out before an important meeting, after everything we've been through together?" Derek raised an eyebrow.

"Are you _kidding me!_ " Lydia screeched, arms crossed and glaring daggers at him. "Get. Out."

"Guys-Maybe, maybe we should give Peter the benefit of the doubt," Scott interjected, head tilted to the side as he thought; ever the mediator. Stiles glared at him.

"I agree with Scotty-boy!" Peter proclaimed.

"Scott, are you insane? He's a manipulative, sneaky, lying, asshole and you _really_ want him in on this meeting?" Stiles exclaimed, pulling at his hair. "Did you lose fifty IQ points between this morning and now?"

* * *

The argument seemed to escalate from there, even as Noah and Melissa arrived. The only ones that weren't getting involved at that point were Erica- who didn't really care- and Deaton, who thought all the arguing was pointless.

"How long have they all been at it?" Melissa asked, raising an eyebrow towards the veterinarian. Deaton sighed loudly.

"About twenty minutes, by now. And I'm pretty sure they're not even arguing more than just hurling insults at each other."

"What should we do?" Erica asked, her eyes more attached to her phone than what was going on- well, she was recording the whole thing for later, but that was beside the point.

"Let them fight it out. I don't doubt that Hermione's appearance will cause them all to quieten down, even if Stiles just doesn't want to wrap Hermione up in the argument." Noah responded, moving to the kitchen, casually observing as he grabbed a drink. (Thank god for open plan living spaces.) (1)

As if by magic, there was a loud, piercing shrill emanating from the door. Hermione stood, leaning against the doorframe as she lowered her hand from her face.

"I knocked several times. For a bunch of wolves, I'm honestly appalled by that." She snarked.

There was a soft giggle from behind Hermione.

"Aunt Mynee, these people are making funny faces." Came a soft voice. Hermione's face became gentle as she reached behind her, picking up a small toddler.

Stiles' eyes bugged out.

The kid had blue hair.

"I hope you don't mind," Hermione said as she moved forward, the child on her hip as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I'd only popped back to England to grab a few books but Andromeda looked like she needed a night off and Teddy _is_ my nephew. I did say I was going to talk to some werewolves and he just got so excited and wouldn't stay at home." She smiled sheepishly. Teddy smiled brightly, and everybody noticed Melissa's soft "awh" at him.

"Yeah- no- that's fine." Derek stumbled and Hermione smiled brightly.

"Is this everybody that needs an explanation?" Hermione asked. Stiles moved forward, glaring at Peter.

"Almost. I think we have one _too many_ here at the moment." Stiles huffed. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I can judge that for myself," Hermione stated with a keen gaze before she moved to look at Peter. "I don't know what's happened with you all, but if you'll allow me to take a quick peek I can properly ascertain whether it's okay to let you in on the secret, Mr…"

"Peter Hale, sweetheart. You can peek all you like." He winked, still eyeing Teddy slightly awkwardly. The kid had blue hair, after all.

Hermione rolled her eyes again- it seemed she was doing that a lot lately- as she felt everybody around them tense up at Peter's flirting.

"Okay. Teddy, sweetheart, can you go grab a seat for me?" She asked him, placing him down and ruffling his hair as he nodded and ran off, hair changing to a bubble-gum pink as he moved to the sofa.

"Okay. Sit down, Mr Hale. This won't hurt-"

"Dammit"

"-But it will feel odd. Ready? _Legilimens."_ She whispered, staring straight into his eyes. Both sets of eyes became unfocused and glassy for a few moments before Hermione stepped back. Peter slumped slightly in his chair, panting.

"H-How did you?" He trailed off with a gasp.

"He stays," Hermione said, much to Stiles' chagrin. That was tempered slightly when Peter received a bruising slap.

"That's for Stiles. Trust me, you deserve a lot worse. But you still get to listen in." She finished firmly, before twisting back to a slightly gobsmacked Derek.

"is it okay for me to change the space a little bit?" She asked, removing the wand from her arm holster. Derek nodded dumbly as Hermione moved away.

With a few flicks of the wrist, golden streamed poured from the stick, eliciting a gasp as Teddy clapped and giggled. A large, round mahogany table took place with matching cushioned chairs.

"Take a seat, everybody." She smiled, moving to sit. She placed a small beaded bag on the table.

"Now, I had to pull in a lot of favours to get the non-disclosure agreements sorted. You have to understand that my people take secrecy extremely seriously. Protecting our people is paramount. Thankfully, most of you are supernatural and thus should've been made aware of our world long ago. Sadly, even today society thinks little of were-beings, especially Type C's. That is to say, were-beings with no magical leanings or capabilities for magic. These contracts, once signed, makes you physically unable to share this information with anybody outside of the magical community, unless in the case of a life-or-death emergency."

Hermione announced. Stiles was sitting next to her at this point, Derek on the other side as everybody's focus fell onto the young woman.

That didn't change, even as she shoved her arm, elbow-deep into the bag and rifled for a few minutes. Large crashes and clangs filled the air, the obvious source being the bag itself as she huffed and swore quietly, before hissing an unintelligible word.

Sighing in relief, she pulled a large stack of papers out of her bag, passing them around with a flick of her wrist, not bothering with her wand at this point.

"Now, down to the bones of the matter." She continued. "I'm a witch."

* * *

 **Dun Dun...dun? idk that was anticlimactic but I wanted to get opinions out now.**

 **1) Suspend your disbelief as to what Derek's loft looks like, I don't think we've ever seen the ktichen and in anycase, I honestly can't remember.**

 **I wasn't 100% sure about including Peter but I lowkey love him so oh well.**

 **Also, any ideas for other ships? Obviously Stiles/Mione is endgame, but other ships? Can be within fandoms or cross-fandoms and tbf I want there to be at least three LGBT character 'ships in this. So I'm up for nearly anything.**

 **I also added in Teddy bc a good Hermione fic includes Teddy and he DOES have a small part to play in the plot.**

 **Idk. This is another chapter I'm not proud of. I'm not good at writing fight scenes. Or just writing i guess. But I hope I did Allison's reintro well, as well as seeing the pack starting to heal.**

 **LIAM WILL BECOME A PART OF THIS FIC AS WILL THEO SO DROP SUGGESTIONS OF THINGS I COULD DO WITH THEM (I.E. Ships, Hermione's relationship to them.)**

 **Lemme know what you think and drop any suggestions down :)**


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